


The Great Divide

by scarlet_malfoy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Auror Harry Potter, HP: Epilogue Compliant, Infidelity, M/M, Pensieves, Unspeakable Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 09:23:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11666274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarlet_malfoy/pseuds/scarlet_malfoy
Summary: If one has wavering faith, can one still have unwavering hope? A tale of beginnings and endings, of getting to the bottom of what one can live with, what one can merely endure… and what one cannot live without.





	The Great Divide

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AnnaFugazzi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaFugazzi/gifts).



> This was written for the 2008 hd_holidays exchange fest on LJ, for annafugazzi. 
> 
> I have to thank both Sarah McLachlan and Vienna Teng for writing the songs that were my muse throughout this entire writing process. Without them, this story wouldn’t have its name, and wouldn’t have a heart. I highly recommend listening to both [this acoustic version of “Possession” by Sarah McLachlan](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JnOLoW9ZxcA), and Eric’s Song by Vienna Teng while you read. 
> 
> I must also thank Jenni for reading this first, and keeping me positive. Above all, I thank lap_otter for their amazing insight and quick beta work, and for being with me every step of the way. 
> 
> One last note: This is an Old Fic. On a recent reread of all my fics, I've realized how far I've come in my own feminism since these more prolific days of fic writing. I apologize in advance for the few moments/phrases/mindsets alluded to that aren't up to standard.

_Friday September 12th, 2008_

Harry stood in the middle of the brightly lit dueling room, smiling and sweating in equal measure as he gazed around at his class. After three hours a day of intensive study and practice for two weeks, each and every one of his students could perform a perfect Conjunctivitis Curse on a target in motion. As a result of being said target in motion, Harry really couldn't make out any of the faces around him, and probably wouldn't be able to see clearly for the next hour or so, but his heart was swelling with pride. 

"Professor, are you all right?" Harry could make out a female voice to his right somewhere, and he reached out a nearly blind arm to place on her shoulder. "Aren't going to pass out on us, are you?" 

"Marie, yeah?" Harry grinned, just able to make out her face at the closer distance. "Cheeky brat. If you think twenty one well-aimed Conjunctivitis Curses are enough to bring me down, you've underestimated your professor." 

A guffaw echoed from across the room, and Harry knew it to be Carlos, whose laugh was unmistakable and bordering on annoying. "Wouldn't want to underestimate _you_ , Professor Potter, 'course not!" 

"Hey!" Harry patronized, dropping his arm off Marie’s shoulder and turning toward the corner of the room that Carlos’ voice seemed to have originated from. "I'm pretty good, I'll admit, but there isn't a witch or wizard yet who's been able to throw off an undiluted Love Potion." The class dissolved into giggles and Harry put his hands on his hips, rolling his eyes and sheepishly recalling the incident last week in which he'd entered the classroom shouting about how enamored he was with Padma Patil, the receptionist of the Auror Training Department. The student who had slipped him the potion was under intense scrutiny at the moment, and her place in the Department was unstable at best. "So unless you'd like me to deduct 10 points from your perfect score for today, Mr. Vasquez, you'll remember not to allude to such incidents. Are we clear?" 

"My… my _perfect score_?" Carlos intoned. All around him students seemed to be holding their breath, shifting anxiously from foot to foot. While Harry was an easygoing sort on a personal level, he was fairly strict when it came to grading. To receive a perfect score from him was almost unheard of.

"That’s right. And that goes for all of you today, not just Carlos. I've been harping on you all term about the real essence of this job... that it's something you can only truly grasp with time. It's something fluid, intense, strong... all that rot. Sound familiar?" A few students groaned half-heartedly under their breath. Harry sounded like a broken record most days, and he grinned because he knew it. "There is absolutely _no room_ for self doubt out in the field, and for the very first time today, I saw the self-assured Auror inside each and every one of you." 

"I'll bet I could cast the Conjunctivitis Curse in my sleep," Marie joked, though her eyes shone with surprise. 

Harry nodded enthusiastically, hoping he was looking at a fuzzy Marie and not the fuzzy student next to her. "That's just it. You've got it, you've _exactly_ got it, and that's how you need to feel about each and every one of the defensive spells you learn this year. All the hard work you've put into learning this one curse? You'll be working three, four, maybe _five_ times as hard on the Blasting Curse next week. It all depends on how long it takes you, individually, to know it, understand it inside and out." He smiled around at them blindly. "And you all wondered why it takes six years to become an active Auror, eh?" 

Some students laughed, but not many. "Relax, would you? Good job is all I'm trying to say! Now go on, get out of here. Ten minutes early, I know, but it's Friday. Go out, party, get a little sloshed, whatever, and I'll see you all next week."

Early dismissal was evidently more emotionally gripping than flattery, and there was an excited flurry of movement as the students made to exit, either out the main doors of the dueling classroom or through the back towards the showers. A hand grabbed Harry by the elbow and pulled him out of the way of the stampede. 

"Professor... may I?" Harry blinked at the wand suddenly pointed in his face. If it had been any other student but Marie Callivan, he might have worried. But because of the fact that it was, he nodded. 

" _Conjunctiva Reparo!_ "

The world swam into focus not all at once, but in increments, which disoriented him for a second or two. He shook his head, adjusted his glasses, and looked down at Marie, who was smiling hopefully up at him with round brown eyes. She'd been Padma's assistant for two years, during which she'd eavesdropped on as many classes as she possibly could. She knew most of the class material inside out, and it was only the practical skills she was honing now, during her first official year. Harry considered her one of his best students. 

"Thanks, Marie. I'll have to remember that one for next term." 

She laughed, turning to pick up the bag she'd placed against the wall. "Well, I'd offer to take your weekly report down to the ninth level for you, as usual, but with this new level of security in place..."

Harry sighed, opening the door for her and then stepping out after her. "These security measures are crazy. Don't they realize that people have work to do? First they ban inter-office memos between floors, and now stand-ins aren't allowed to deliver reports? Bloody crazy." 

"One little exploding, Hexed parchment too many, I'd say, Sir." Marie avoided his eyes as they walked. 

"You're worried, aren't you?" Harry slowed as they approached his own office door and he turned to face her. "You've got nothing to worry about. They’ve doubled the watch in every department, and they're screening all visitors extensively. Takes at least an hour to get through inspection these days. Anyways, I'm not entirely convinced it _wasn't_ just a mistake no one has the guts to own up to... and how long have we known each other, Marie? Call me Harry, would you?" 

Marie looked up at him finally, looking less than convinced. "When I was just Padma's assistant running errands for you once in a while, it was all right to call you that, but now? Sorry, it just doesn't feel right. _Professor_." 

Harry rolled his eyes. "It makes _me_ feel unnecessarily old. You're just two years my junior. No need for that formality outside of class, okay?" 

"Twenty-eight is hardly old!" She shook her head with a slight smile. "Whoever you are, you’ve no idea how glad I am that you're finally my professor. It's been the best two weeks of my life, actually being a part of it, you know?" 

Harry beamed at her. "And I've never had a more promising student. It's just my second year teaching and all, but I can tell that you're setting a standard for years to come. I hope you know that." He paused, raising an eyebrow. "However, don't you have somewhere much more exciting to be than chatting here with your professor on a Friday afternoon?" 

"A date later tonight, actually." Marie grinned suggestively. Harry smiled back, preparing to turn towards his office door and make his final goodbyes when Marie took a cautious step forward. "Can I ask you something?"

"Not dating advice, I hope. Couldn't help you much with that, I'm afraid. Been out of that loop for a while now!" Harry hoped and prayed that this wasn't about to get awkward. One hand was situated behind his back, gripping the door handle firmly should he need to make a hasty escape. 

But Marie's grin faded, and she merely looked troubled. "What made you quit the field?" 

Harry had to think about the words for a few seconds before they made sense in his mind. He hadn't been expecting anything like that - in fact, he'd been preparing for the worst. A proposal, a proposition, another Love Potion or something along those lines, all of which he had experienced in his relatively short life. He was relieved that his faith in Marie had not been completely unfounded. But how could he tell one of his best students why he had quit the line of work he was training her for? 

"Well... well, it's hard to say, really." Harry scratched his head and wished, not for the first time in his life, that he were more eloquent. 

"Please try. I'd really like to know before I get much farther into this thing. I respect you. Your opinion is important to me. I listened in on your classes the most last year, if that means anything to you." 

Harry laughed. "No wonder you aced the last two quizzes. Little sneak." 

Marie just looked at him pointedly, and Harry nodded, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe and crossing his arms in resignation. "All right. I don't want you to think that I have any less respect for those in the field just because I made the decision to resign from active duty, or that I think any less of what they do. It's extremely important work." He looked at Marie, whose head was tilted to one side. "It just... wasn't something I could do anymore. I spent the better part of my childhood worrying about the bad guys, and I'll never get those years back. And now, I've got a three-year old, a two-year old and another one on the way, and I just... I realized that I didn't want to spend my adult years within that same frame of mind. For my kids' sake, as well as mine. Does that make sense?" 

Marie nodded. "You spent just three years in the field. And you were top of your class. Was the Department sad to see you go?" 

"Cried into their pillows every night for a week." Harry kept a straight face for about two seconds before they both burst out laughing. "Really, they were disappointed at first, tried to talk me out of it for a long time, but eventually they understood. And I still wanted to be involved here, which everyone seemed really happy about. I love teaching." 

Marie placed a friendly hand on Harry's arm. "It shows. Thanks for sharing that with me, Harry." 

"Of course." Harry glanced around the hallway, which had almost completely cleared. "Go have a weekend, you nutter. I've got to finish my report and bring it downstairs _myself_ and all that shite, and if I'm late again, my wife will certainly bite my head off. I'll see you on Monday, yeah?" 

"Bye, Professor... Harry." Marie smiled and turned to leave, and Harry sighed, finally turning the knob of his office door and heading inside.

~*~

_Strange how you know inside me_  
I measure the time and I stand amazed  
Strange how I know inside you  
My hand is outstretched toward the damp of the haze 

~*~

Ginny’s red hair seemed almost on fire itself as her face floated in the fireplace in Harry’s office. Seated at his desk, Harry flipped idly through the weekly report he had yet to completely fill out and deliver to the ninth level - the Department of Mysteries - before he could call it a day and go home.

“Do you think you can finish and be home in half an hour? The kids are hungry, I’m hungry... I don’t see why you couldn’t have delivered it on your lunch break or something.” Ginny spoke while attempting to keep an eye on James and Albus and glare daggers at her husband at the same time.

“I had a student in who needed some help with his defensive stance during my lunch break. I’m hungry too, and I’m sorry, but I’ll be home as soon as I can. It might be half an hour, or it might be a little longer. Who knows?” He finally glanced at her, unsurprised but still wincing at the anger in her eyes. 

Things hadn’t been wonderful between the two of them as of late. With the announcement of the arrival of their third child, Ginny had been asked kindly to resign from her position on the Holyhead Harpies. They'd looked into the legalities of the situation, but there wasn't anything they could do. The contract Ginny had signed only allowed for two consecutive seasons of paid leave. It was a garbage policy, it wasn't fair, but it made sense, Harry had told her at the time. After having taken the allotted time off for both James and Albus, the captain was only doing what was best for the team as a whole. They weren't willing to rely solely on their reserve Seeker for a third season in a row. And, Harry had reminded her, she’d be able to spend a lot more time with the kids as a result. He had expected her to be happy about that, at the very least, but Ginny had become more and more distant and irritable as her waistband expanded. 

She would burst into tears and refuse to tell him what the matter was, refuse to let him in. She never outright said it, but it was clear she envied him his time away from home and sometimes made degrading comments about his switch from fieldwork to teaching. It hurt that his wife, who had once been so understanding about his decision was now using it as ammunition against him. He understood why she felt the way she did -- he'd had a choice, and she hadn't been given one. Harry'd had plans to fight the system beside her, but she's shot it down immediately - something about not wanting to be sailing behind on the winds of his success. Ginny didn't want his help and she seemed to flat out scorn his support, and he just didn't know how to make it better for her anymore. 

“The sooner I get started, the sooner I’ll be home. Will you be watching over me as I work?” Harry asked, watching his fingers play an indistinct rhythm over the cover of the report on his desk. He had been very careful over the past few months, making sure not to buy into the frustration building up inside him, telling himself that it would only make it worse if he did. But it had gotten so bad lately that he couldn’t stop his mounting frustration from escaping little by little.

There was no response other than an indignant huff on her end. He listened as she slammed the grate shut at home, and the green flame in his office’s fireplace disappeared, leaving behind a heavy silence.

He glanced at the wall next to his desk, where a smiling photograph of James and Al was on prominent display. Their smiles rejuvenated him, calming him down enough so that he could actually concentrate on finishing his report.

~*~

_And of course I forgive_  
I've seen how you live  
Like a phoenix you rise from the ashes  
You pick up the pieces  
And the ghosts in the attic  
They never quite leave 

~*~

"The Department of Mysteries," the lift's cool, female voice finally announced. A chill ran down Harry's spine, as it always did and always would whenever he got off on this particular level – but it didn’t deter him for more than a moment. He stepped out of the lift, report in hand, once the iron grilles had opened wide enough for him to step through.

He immediately noticed that all the desks in the circular reception area were deserted, and all of the hallways that intersected off the main room were dark. 

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, walking into the very center of the room and glancing around a bit desperately. He hadn't considered that the reports might have had to be in before a certain time of day. The only thing that was stopping him from getting the hell out of there and turning his report in on Monday instead was the fact that he really did not want to receive a nasty memo from the head of either his own department or the head of the Department of Mysteries. For no reason that Harry could discern, these reports were of utmost importance, and all departments within the Ministry were required to have them in. The ‘or else’ was implied, and he really didn’t fancy any articles in the Prophet about him having an inquiry at work. 

With a frown, Harry turned to make his way – regretfully – back to the lift, when he heard a door open and close down one of the invisible hallways. He could hear someone walking, shoes clacking on the stone floor. It echoed up and down the intermingling hallways, back and forth and back and forth so that Harry wasn't sure where the sound had originated from - until he saw someone appear, carrying what looked like the entire Ministry’s weekly report. All of them were identical to the thick binding Harry had stowed under his arm. After a moment he realized that it was Draco Malfoy. 

It was almost comical to see the reports tipping out of Malfoy's grip as he noticed Harry's presence. They flew across the room in all directions and hit the ground almost in slow motion, a cacophony of paper.

Malfoy must have been sure that his glare alone could burn a hole through Harry, who was feeling a bit scandalized under the scrutiny. After a moment, Malfoy took notice of the report under Harry’s arm, and comprehension dawned in his eyes. 

“That was supposed to be in by four o’clock, Potter.” He glanced over Harry’s shoulder to look at the large clock on the wall, furiously ticking just above the lift. At the same time he muttered an alphabetizing charm, and the files flew from the ground into Malfoy’s once again outstretched arms – including Harry’s file, rudely ripped from his fingers. 

“Ow!” Harry yelped, wringing his hand and finally returning Malfoy’s glare. Up until then he’d been regarding the other man with almost faint amusement, but receiving a paper-cut from his one-time nemesis put him a little past the edge of faintly amused. 

“Sorry about that.” Malfoy didn’t sound sorry at all. “See, some people apologize when they appear out of nowhere – very creepily, I might add – and make them drop their very important files all over the floor.” 

Harry stared at the red line across his palm. “If you’d have given me a moment or two before biting my head off, then you would have heard me apologize.” 

Malfoy rolled his eyes at him, igniting something petty but fiercely stubborn in Harry’s heart – something he forced himself to swallow and thrust beneath the surface. Harry wasn’t fifteen years old anymore, even if this encounter was making him feel like it over again. So much had happened to him since then – to Malfoy, too, he presumed. Harry hadn’t thought of their intense schoolboy rivalry in years.

He hadn’t really seen much of Malfoy after the war, though he’d testified on both Malfoy’s and his mother’s behalf, saving them both from a 20-year stint in Azkaban on charges of being accomplices to the Death Eaters. Malfoy hadn’t uttered a word of thanks to Harry, not even an owl of recognition, absolutely nothing at all – until Harry took it upon himself to return the hawthorne wand. What did he need it for, really? A bit awkwardly and just as Harry had been turning to leave the Manor, Malfoy had thanked him – it had been short and certainly not sweet, but Malfoy had been sincere enough that Harry’s estimation of him had risen a bit. During Harry’s testimony, he had stated quite adamantly that he believed Malfoy had refused to identify him that night at the Manor in order to save his life. It hadn’t been the first time Harry had witnessed Malfoy make a decision like that; Harry would never forget the way all the color fled from Malfoy’s face when he told the Wizengamot about that night on the rooftop with Dumbledore.

They hadn't had reason to come in contact again until a few years after the war, when Malfoy started working in the Department of Mysteries. Harry had only seen Malfoy at various Ministry functions outside the office, since he had been on active duty most of the time. He had attended Narcissa Malfoy’s funeral last year out of respect for the woman who had saved his life during the war, and Malfoy had politely thanked him for coming, but that was it. This was only the second or third time he had even seen him in the Ministry since he’d started teaching. 

“Well, now you’ve got my report. Sorry it was late. Do you need anything else?” Harry asked, itching to get out of there, but Malfoy closed his eyes and sighed, as if Harry had reminded him of something quite dreadful – he looked back at Harry and glared at him resentfully. 

“Actually, I’ve got to have you sign a sheet saying you’ve dropped it off and that you are, actually, who you say you are – new safety protocol, don’t ask me – but I’ve left it in my office.” Malfoy glanced up at him and immediately turned to head back down the hallway he’d just come from, several overhead lights turning on as he approached. Harry supposed he was meant to follow, and so he did. 

There were fewer echoes in the smaller hallway, but the sound still bounced from wall to wall strangely, in a way that seemed to make every little movement or twitch intimately obvious. Harry was certain it hadn’t been like this down here back in his fifth year – though he’d never visited any of the offices before, so perhaps he was wrong. Eventually they stopped at a nondescript black door, identical to all the others in the hallway, and presumably, the entire department. The small silver plaque on the wall beside it read in indented script: _Draco Malfoy, Head Coordinator of the Dept. of Mysteries_. Harry shook his head in wonder.

“Amusing, yes, nameplates always are… could you do me a favor, though, and get the door, please? I’m a little heavy-handed.” Malfoy tilted his head towards his office door. Harry sighed, but opened the door nonetheless, following Malfoy into the office. 

“What was that look for, anyway?” Malfoy inquired as he set the pile of reports on the corner of his desk and kneeled down to rifle through one of the filing cabinets against the wall.

“What look?” Harry asked as he took in the large, brightly lit office, and the fake sunlight streaming in through the shutters. He would never have imagined Malfoy’s office so… friendly, or comfortable. Two off-white plush armchairs were in front of his large, mahogany desk, and homey touches lined the shelves – lots of picture frames and magical post-it notes filled with hurried but tidy print. Some finger-paintings were pinned to a large corkboard behind the desk. 

“Oh, come on, Potter. The look you just gave my nameplate outside. It was two seconds ago. Have you developed the attention span of a goldfish since the good old days?” Malfoy’s voice was mostly muffled as he kneeled low over the cabinet’s lowest open drawer, but still audible. Harry could only see his back.

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Dunno, though it seems some things never change.” He shuffled from foot to foot, wishing Malfoy would quit being so bloody annoying and find the damn parchment so he could just sign it and leave. 

Malfoy had the nerve to laugh. “Oh, I’ve changed, Potter. Believe you me.” He straightened finally with a parchment in hand and snatched a quill from his desk, offering them both to Harry. Frowning at him, Harry took them and leaned over the desk, scanning the document for a place to sign. 

“Left hand side. Names are in alphabetical order, so you should be somewhere in the middle, there.” 

“Thanks,” he mumbled, finding his name quickly and scrawling his signature and the date along the line. “For the record, that look wasn’t a slight against you or anything. I just don’t _get_ the Department of Mysteries, I guess.” Glancing towards the top of the document again, his eyes caught on a framed photograph of a blond-haired little boy that Malfoy had on his desk, and he spoke before Malfoy could retort. “Is that your son?” 

“Oh, yes… that’s Scorpius. I think he’ll be in the same class as your current youngest.” Malfoy quirked an eyebrow at him as though he were anticipating a negative response, but then his eyes flickered downward onto the photograph, silently wiping away a bit of dust that had gathered on the silver frame.

Harry’s eyebrow rose in turn, wondering if Malfoy understood at all that he himself had changed, too. The familiar, stubborn impulse had surprised him simply by still existing within him, still a part of him after all the time that had passed. It was being brought into focus for the first time since… well, probably since his very last real exchange with Malfoy, years ago. But he wasn’t going to let it rule him. In class, he’d dealt with several students who had had pasts littered with the lineage of Death Eaters, and he’d been able to come to turns with all of them, and they with him. He’d had to learn to let go of a lot of pride when dealing with students, their parents, and other members of the staff. Old acquaintances were no different; he was determined to make it so. However natural it seemed to argue with Malfoy, he was going to have to find a new way to channel it or something. 

“Well. Let’s hope they get on better than we did, eh?” Harry handed both parchment and quill back to Malfoy, who looked astonished. 

“One can only hope.” Malfoy placed the parchment back in his drawer and shut it with his foot. “That’s all I need here, Potter.” 

Harry nodded, feeling strange and oddly pleased with the exchange, though not entirely certain how to end the conversation. He’d never had to worry about being cordial with Malfoy before. “Next week, then?” he asked hesitantly. 

“Next week, right here. And do try to be punctual from now on,” Malfoy chided as he picked up the large pile of reports again. 

The corners of Harry’s mouth twitched in acquiescence, and he moved to hold the door open and follow Malfoy back out into the hallway of echoes.

Harry stared ahead, automatically keeping time with Malfoy’s noisy footsteps. Malfoy had filled out in the years since the Death Eater trials. Harry had never really taken a purposeful look at the man, but back then Malfoy had been all skin and bones. With all that he’d been dealing with at the time, Harry could hardly blame him, having been rather skinny and bony and stressed himself. He was glad Malfoy seemed to have fallen into a healthy routine, with a healthy family life. Good for him.

“What are you even looking for in all these reports? I just don’t get how my boring notes could be in any way important,” Harry voiced tentatively. 

Malfoy shot him a withering glance over his shoulder. “Don’t be daft. We’re the Department of _Mysteries_. Don’t tell me you honestly expect me to answer that?” 

Harry shrugged. “Not really. Thought I’d ask, just in case you were off your guard or something.” 

“An Unspeakable is never off their guard,” Malfoy sniggered at what must have been a private joke as he faced front. They’d reached the main room again, and Malfoy turned around to face him. “Don’t follow me. I’m not taking the lift. I’d rather you not see the hallway I take these files down, if you don’t mind.”

It was Harry’s turn to snigger. “Now who’s being creepy?” 

“At least it’s my job to be creepy. What’s your excuse?” Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

“Ha. Touché,” Harry said, fiddling with the hem of his jumper and wondering if it would be at all appropriate to shake Malfoy’s hand. It seemed they’d managed to come to a mutual understanding regarding their past, or something along those lines. Harry wasn’t going to dissect it too much, but he would accept it for what he thought it was. 

He held his hand out then, realizing a split second later that Malfoy’s hands were rather preoccupied with all the reports he was holding. Malfoy’s cheeks turned a light shade of pink as he stared down at the proffered hand. 

“Sorry, well, guess that was a dumb idea,” Harry muttered as he retracted his hand, starting to slowly back toward the lift. “See you next week, Malfoy.”

“Next week,” Malfoy echoed. “You should try that again next week, at a less inopportune moment, perhaps.” 

Harry grinned, beginning to turn. “Maybe I will.”

Malfoy nodded once in affirmation, and Harry turned to face the lift. He didn’t have to wait long, as it didn’t seem to have gone anywhere since Harry had left it not ten minutes earlier. He clambered in, and turned to face front. In the time it took for the grilles to shut, he watched Malfoy, still standing there protecting the secrets of his files and studying him with interest. Their eyes met for a split second. Neither of them looked away.

~*~

_And of course I forgive_  
You've seen how I live  
I've got darkness and fears to appease  
My voices and analogies  
Ambitions like ribbons  
Worn bright on my sleeve 

~*~

 

_One Week Later  
Friday September 19th, 2008_

Draco gritted his teeth, gripping the headboard and thrusting in time with the man on his knees behind him. Fingers made their way up and down his back, nails leaving behind trails of bright pink skin as Draco hissed.

“Close… almost… ah, Har… nry… Henri, Henri…” He bit his lip guiltily as he came.

Henri de Lorme was a rich French diplomat’s son. Lucius Malfoy had been good friends with the elder de Lorme for as long as Draco could remember, and their families had even vacationed together a few times. Draco and Henri had been very close as children, but hadn’t seen much of each other after their respective departures to Hogwarts and Beauxbaton. After the war – in which both families had been rather involved – the Malfoys and the de Lormes had decided to start vacationing together again, in hopes of bolstering their spirits and getting themselves back on level ground within the wizarding world. 

One thing that neither family had counted on being bolstered was their sons’ mutual sex drives. 

Of course, neither family was aware of that fact, though Draco thought Lucius might have had some suspicions. He never voiced them, and for that Draco was grateful. The arrangement he had with Henri de Lorme was a purely physical one, with a strong basis of friendship that had sustained it for longer than the usual fling. 

Draco still planned on getting married and producing his heir, and Henri had similar plans. He wasn’t in love with Henri. He’d never been in love, not even with his wife. 

Especially not with his wife. 

Henri lay down on his back beside Draco, grinning widely. Draco lay down, too, but didn’t reach for Henri or pull him in for any sort of post-coital kiss. They had never done that. Both agreed it would be taking the arrangement too far. 

“So, who is this – _Har_ ny, hmm?” Henri asked, a bit of humour evident in his tone. Draco was glad it was dark in the room. Henri would have trouble making out the finer details of his face, which would not be conducive to secret keeping. He’d gone rigid at the remark, and he had a feeling his cheeks were turning slightly pink, entirely of their own accord. 

“Slip of the tongue, perhaps, during a particularly intense moment of passion. It’s been known to happen. I’m quite flighty, you know me.” Draco looked away, pretending to study the contours of the darkened ceiling. 

“I do. I know you quite well.” Henri reached out to turn Draco’s face towards him, and Draco braced himself to pull away. “Well enough to know that something is very… odd about you tonight.”

Draco forced himself to laugh. “I’m just tired. I don’t really know what else it could be.” 

Henri smiled knowingly. Draco could just make it out in the darkness, the tender curving of the other man’s lips. If there was any one person Draco trusted enough to tell, it was Henri… but both of them knew that he wouldn’t. 

With a couple of gentle pats on the cheek, Henri stood and began to search for his cloths in the dark. As usual, he would Apparate home. He never spent the night; it was another unspoken rule of their arrangement.

“You know my Floo is always open, Draco,” Henri said kindly, stepping into a thin sliver of moonlight near the door that had escaped the shutter’s wrath. The man’s dark hair was sticking out at funny angles and it made Draco’s stomach turn for reasons that were becoming all too clear to him. He closed his eyes to shut it out of his mind. 

“Thanks, Henri. I’ll talk to you in a few days at my parent’s place for tea, yeah?” 

Henri looked slightly crestfallen, but he smiled and nodded, and with a slight turn he was gone.

~*~

 

_Four Years Earlier  
Monday September 5th, 2005_

“Before entering this room,” Reginald Kilpatrick – Draco’s soon-to-be-boss – began to address the small group of new Unspeakable trainees, “you must read and sign the contract. It is of utmost importance. If you cannot adhere to the terms, I’ll have to ask that you leave and ask the front desk for a memory charm on the way out.”

It was very clear to Draco that there were no games being played. Kilpatrick’s voice was a colorful bass, but despite its warmth there was an undercurrent of intensity that made Draco shiver whenever the man was being even slightly threatening. He was short and stout and had a long dark beard that came to such a distinct point, Draco was sure he spelled it that way every morning. 

Draco calmly studied the parchment that had been handed to him, and several moments later he learned exactly what the term “Unspeakable” meant. 

At first the knowledge terrified him. His gut instinct was to hand the contract back and run to the front desk for his memory charm, but he forced himself to read to the very end. 

He’d be giving up the ability to speak freely. Before entering the main work centre of the Department of Mysteries, he’d have to undergo a process of complicated spell work – which they termed ‘taking the Oath’ – that would, in essence, make it virtually impossible to tell another person who wasn’t also an Unspeakable _anything_ about the innerworkings of the Department. It sounded far too Veritaserum-esque to Draco, though the last sentence gave him some solace. 

_Unspeakables may inform family members and close friends about the Oath they have taken (though not any details of its processes and true effects) if they are asked to disclose any information regarding their line of work._

Draco, who had lately been digging for realistic excuses to meet with Henri twice a month, now had the perfect alibi. Even his cold-hearted wife wouldn’t dispute the Oath of an Unspeakable. Before now, Draco had been in awe of the ambiance of Unspeakables, intrigued by the secrets they kept, and curious to learn it all, to be as awe-inspiring as they were, if only to regain a bit of respect and social-standing in the wizarding world. 

He’d been through the moral testing. He’d had his mind searched from beginning to end, top to bottom, had all of his most intimate thoughts plundered and critiqued by qualified Unspeakable Legilimens. His very moral fiber had been judged. In the end, they’d found him worthy of the appointment. To try for it had been the very first decision Draco had made for himself, of his own accord, without any other person or influence in mind, and the joy he felt at success had been sweet. 

Now, Draco had another choice to make. It was true that he didn’t really need to work. The Malfoy funds would virtually never run out, not unless he went wildly crazy buying houses in every major European city, which he wouldn’t do. He was very happy with his new three-level flat in London. 

But nor could he stay home and be content. He had married Astoria Greengrass as his mother had wanted. His mother had been weak and sick then, and he hadn’t been able to begrudge her a thing. Astoria was very beautiful, with dark hair and pale skin and was what Crabbe had once termed ‘the most wankable bird in Slytherin.’ Draco had thought they might come to be friends, at the very least – they hadn’t met each other more than a couple of times before getting married. It was an old system; arranged marriages weren’t nearly as popular as they had been in his parents’ generation, but it was ideal for pureblooded gay men who still wanted to maintain an image. 

It was also ideal for Pureblooded witches whose funds were waning. Both facts were unspoken between them, but clear as day at the same time – the two most brightly lit elephants that had ever hidden in the corner of a room. 

Draco had thought they would be able to work through their issues together, and make the best of the situation. He was a reasonable man, after all. 

But on the eve of their marriage, Astoria, who had always been aware of Draco's sexuality, had turned to him and said, “If the media catches you cheating on me, Draco Malfoy, I _will_ make your life a living hell.” Then she’d kissed him tenderly on the cheek, and retired to her own room, leaving Draco upset and angry at the turn his life had suddenly decided to take.

But there hadn’t been anything he could do at the time. He’d only married her for appearance’s sake anyway, and he felt like a bit of a hypocrite demanding any kind of close or open relationship with her. He could live with his marriage, with this woman who wanted nothing to do with him, it seemed, as long as it stayed in the outskirts of his life. 

As he signed the contract, he mentally triumphed over Astoria’s threat. Lying would be a part of his job now, and she’d simply have to accept that, as anyone in the wizarding world would. Unspeakables were the most mystical, secretive branch of the Ministry and no one doubted them. He could fuck Henri, fuck any man he wanted on the side and he’d have absolutely no one to answer to. 

Oh, this was definitely something he could live with.

He ended his name with a flourish, and handed the contract to Kilpatrick.

~*~

_Strange how we know each other…_

~*~

 

_One Month After the Delivery of the First Report  
Thursday October 9th, 2008_

“WELCOME ALL, TO THE THREE HUNDRED AND THIRTY FOURTH ANNUAL QUIDDITCH LEAUGE CUP!”

Every single person in the stadium, Harry included, began to show their appreciation by screaming and clapping in tandem. The Ministry’s reserved box was full of employees and their families, though Harry and Ginny had left the boys with Molly for the evening. 

Harry had been a bit nervous about going with Ginny to the game, and even more surprised that she had seemed to want to go so badly. Wasn’t it a lack of Quidditch in her life that had set the last few months in motion for her? But everything seemed to be going all right. She was sitting next to Harry in the front row of the topmost box, not quite smiling but looking around with an almost naive gleam in her eye, as if she’d never seen a Quidditch pitch before. Harry wondered if she was reliving their first Quidditch World Cup experience together; that had been the last time Harry had been at a match quite this animated. League Cups weren’t generally as heated as World Cups, but there was good reason for it today, of course. 

“PLEASE WELCOME TO THE PITCH, FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 1892…THE CHUDLEY CANNONS!” 

Fans bedecked in orange robes and with orange paint on their faces – it covered some fans’ bodies entirely – jumped to their feet as the players zoomed on to the field. Harry didn’t stand, as his allegiance had shifted slightly since his Hogwarts years, but he had to laugh at Ron, his hair clashing horribly with his robes, screaming himself hoarse a couple of seats down from him. 

All of the present Weasleys had gotten to their feet, Ginny included. Harry helped her back down into her seat afterwards, though she admonished him with a harsh look after she was settled. Harry didn’t say that he’d only been thinking of her safety and the baby’s, and he probably wouldn’t have even if she could have heard him over the roar of the crowd. Molly had given her an earful before leaving the Burrow, not thinking it very wise for a woman seven months pregnant to be attending a Quidditch match. She didn't need any more of that, especially not from him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar blond head enter the box, and his head swiveled to watch as Malfoy made his way down the aisle toward him. He smiled as he took in the scarlet and light green face paint Malfoy was wearing that perfectly matched the colors Harry had charmed his own robes. It looked like he wouldn’t be the only one in the box supporting the other team. 

“AND NOW, FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE THEIR OUTSTANDING VICTORY OVER THE KARASJOK KITES IN 1956… PLEASE WELCOME, THE CAERPHILLY CATAPULTS!” The exultant Catapult fans made their presence known while a chorus of boos and hisses from the Cannons fans sounded. Harry jumped to his feet excitedly, cheering despite the look Ron was giving him from a few feet away. Malfoy reached him just as the screams died down and they turned to each other, shaking hands briefly before taking their seats. 

“Glad I’m not alone in the box today!” Harry yelled over the din, ears ringing and his breath coming out in misty tendrils. He’d dropped off his report every Friday to Malfoy in the past month – always on time – and he’d begun staying to chat with the other man over their lunch-breaks – even coming back to finish up the conversation at the end of the day, sometimes. They argued and they disagreed on quite a bit, but even so, they both seemed to have developed a sense of respect towards others’ ideals. Harry thought it might be safe to say that they were becoming friends. 

Malfoy nodded his agreement, eyeing the back of Harry’s robes curiously. Harry grinned and turned so that Malfoy could see the name “Llewellyn” etched across the back properly. 

“I used to have a Dangerous Dai Llewellyn poster in my room at the Manor!” Malfoy laughed. “My parents absolutely detested it.” Harry struggled to picture something as tacky as a poster hung up on the wall in Malfoy Manor – the same Manor that Voldemort had once inhabited – but was finding it difficult. 

“Hey, where’s Astoria?” Harry asked, noticing for the first time that Malfoy had come alone. Malfoy never really mentioned his wife when they talked, and Harry had noticed that there wasn’t a single picture of her in his office. He thought it was a bit weird, but then he really wasn’t one to judge as far as wives were concerned. 

“Ah… she couldn’t make it.” 

Ginny cleared her throat loudly just as Harry opened his mouth to comment. He closed it abruptly and turned towards her instead, wishing he had her ability to speak a thousand words with just a look, something she'd inherited from Molly. 

“Aren’t you going to introduce me properly?” Ginny asked, an icy sweetness to her tone. Malfoy raised an eyebrow. 

“Right.” Harry felt slightly ridiculous introducing two people who had known each other – albeit indirectly – for years, but whatever. “You remember my wife, Ginny Potter-Weasley. Gin, you remember Draco Malfoy, don’t you?” He leaned back in his seat so the two of them could shake hands. 

“Of course. Harry’s been on about how much you’ve changed since school, haven’t you Harry?” 

Harry went a little red in the face at that, though Malfoy was grinning at him – he didn’t exactly want Malfoy to know he’d been talking about him, even if it had been nothing but praise. 

He was grateful Ron chose that exact moment to plop down in the seat next his sister, not seeming surprised in the least to see Malfoy there. Harry had told him all about Malfoy’s unexpected friendliness several evenings ago over dinner, and both Ron and Hermione had seemed pleasantly surprised. Malfoy didn’t know this, though, and Harry could sense him stiffen at his side. 

“Ready to get slaughtered, _Catapults_?” Ron was a big blur of red and orange hues, making him look like an entirely overgrown and mismatched child. The smile plastered across his face sealed the deal, and Harry felt Malfoy relax slightly. He had rarely witnessed Ron so excited – his behavior was rivaling the day Hermione had answered with a resounding ‘yes’ to his proposal of marriage. Hermione was nearly nine months pregnant and at home with Rose at the moment. She had taken Harry aside after dinner and mentioned that Ron had brought out his old Cannon bed-set, and was refusing to sleep under anything else. 

“When the Catapults win,” Harry had grinned cheekily at her, “he’ll put it back in his old trunk where it belongs. Don’t worry.”

A blaring whistle reverberated in Harry’s ears, and he stared down at the pitch. The match hadn’t quite started yet, but the players seemed to be circling in to land. 

“Statistically speaking, the Cannons haven’t _slaughtered_ anybody in over a century,” Malfoy was pointing out. “So it’s highly unlikely that they’ll…” The rest of Malfoy’s words were swallowed up by the screams of the crowd. Everyone was leaning over the railings, gaping down at the pitch. On the far side, a line of real-life catapults stood, a Catapult team member manning each one. On their side of the pitch, they could see the orange forms of the Cannon players holding their wands just under the fuse of as many ancient-looking cannons. 

The whole crowd stood and shouted as the pre-game display lit up the sky with brightly colored explosions, showering the crowd in orange and green-tinted sweets. Harry grinned, wishing his boys could have been there to see it – though Al probably wouldn’t have liked the noise very much. When it was over several minutes later, Harry noticed Ron staring at him and Malfoy, shaking his head in dismay. “What happened to my best mate? Those good old Cannon days, Harry, don’t you remember?” 

Harry laughed, and Ron grinned despite himself. Quidditch, in the face of their new, adult lives, really didn’t hold as much importance as it once had, and was hardly a true source of animosity between the pair. “Of course I do. I just couldn’t avoid coming to the realization that the Cannons are…well…”

“They’re absolutely terrible, is what they are,” Draco added helpfully, popping a green sweet into his mouth. 

“Haven’t been terrible this season though, have they? They’re in the League Cup, after all!” Ron seemed to have reminded himself of the fact all over again, and he looked ready to pee himself. He bumped shoulders with Ginny giddily, but she leaned away from him, towards her husband, her arms crossed over her bulging belly. 

“A fluke. An odd bit of luck on their side this season. Nothing more. You know Walters is the worst Seeker the Cannons have had in years. Just you wait and see.” 

Ginny suddenly made to stand. “I’m going to sit with Angelina,” Ginny announced, pushing aside Harry's outstretched helping hand. Harry just nodded. 

Ron adjusted his knees so that she could pass, and all three of them stared after her as she marched up the aisle. Harry blushed a deep crimson. He’d so hoped they’d be able to get through the game without something happening that would bring the issues they were having to the attention of others. 

Looking concerned, Ron moved over to sit in the newly vacated seat. “Don’t worry about it, mate. Hermione’s exactly the same. Sorry you’ve still got two months of it left, though.” When Harry didn’t say anything, he went on. “I can go try to talk some sense into her if you’d like.”

Harry shook his head, responding in clipped tones. “No, it's all right. Just let it be.” 

In avoiding both Ron’s and Malfoy’s eyes, Harry saw that the players were lining up on the pitch now, facing each other, preparing to shake hands. Excitement slowly began to replace the anger in his stomach, and he hurriedly tried to store the rest of his unpleasant emotions away. He wasn’t going to deal with it right now, not when something this monumental was about to occur right before his eyes. 

“You two are something else,” Ron spoke, almost wistfully. Harry turned to him, surprised he wasn’t taking in every detail of the players down on the pitch, but was instead looking from Harry to Malfoy to Harry again, shaking his head. “The only two Catapult fans in the box. I never would have imagined it.” 

Malfoy elbowed him, and Harry grinned. It didn’t seem so weird to Harry. Not anymore. He’d come to look forward to the other man’s company quite a bit, and was late in coming home most Fridays as a result of the time they spent in Malfoy’s office talking. It was refreshing and new, and gave him something to look forward to. 

The whistle blew loudly, signaling the start of the game, and without another word Ron jumped up to join his brothers and the other orange-clad fans. 

“It is pretty funny, actually,” Malfoy remarked. Harry, understandably distracted, couldn’t take his eyes off the Snitch until it finally disappeared from view somewhere near the farthest Cannon goalpost. Only then did he turn to look at Malfoy for the first time in several minutes. 

“What’s funny?”

“The Catapult colors.” He fingered the cloth of Harry’s robes, raising his eyebrows. “Variants of red and green?”

It took a moment for the implications to dawn on Harry, and then he grinned mischievously. “Well, it seems two old Quidditch opponents can call a truce, as long as their mutual favorite team contains both their old house colors, right?” 

“Something like that, I’m sure.”

~*~

_Strange how I fit into you_  
There's a distance erased with the greatest of ease  
Strange how you fit into me  
A gentle warmth filling the deepest of needs 

~*~

“Here’s a couple more pints for the losers!” Ron announced happily, slamming the glasses down on the table with a little more force than was probably necessary. He was completely inebriated, though, and couldn’t really be held accountable. The Cannons had won the match, and would be competing in the World Cup for the first time in history. He sauntered drunkenly away from Harry and Draco’s table, much too excitable to share a drink with the sole pity party in the pub.

Draco sighed at the new pints, staring guiltily into the nearly empty one he was currently nursing – it must have been his eighth or ninth. He was getting quite tipsy. He was, in fact, much tipsier than he'd been in a long time, and much, much tipsier than he'd promised himself he would ever be around Harry. He knew himself. He said things, did things without thinking, and if he got any tipsier, he would be downright drunk. It was entirely possible that he might slip and tell Harry how adorable he was being when he was drunkenly trying to remove the bottle cap of the cheap lager he liked so much with his teeth. Harry's wand was inches away from him on the table, and Draco nudged it forward with the tip of his own wand until Harry finally gave up. 

"You used to be an active Auror, right? Mustn’t have come across many evil overlord bottle caps, I guess." Draco grinned into his pint. 

The pub was extremely packed with exuberant Cannon fans. Harry and Draco had been able to secure a tiny corner table where they wouldn’t be in the middle of everybody’s good time as they drank their sorrows away, though their knees knocked together every time someone ungraciously stumbled by. After his sixth pint or so, this no longer seemed like a bad thing to Draco. 

"There were surprisingly few evil overlords in the Auror business," Harry mused, flicking the newly removed bottle cap in Draco's general direction. It flew nearly fifteen centimeters to the left. "Not even very many wannabe evil overlords, though there were a fair few of those just after the end of the War." He paused, frowning, and took a drink from his bottle. "But we don't want to talk about that. Something a little less depressing, I think. Not the loss, though. I think we’ve pretty much run that topic into the ground." 

Draco eyed him peculiarly. "Yes. That loss that just about devastated all my hopes and dreams - and yours, too, from what I have gathered – you’re right, that subject is so much less depressing." Draco couldn't help but laugh his way through the end of his phrase. He really was far too tipsy. One didn't laugh over the events of the war in the face of Harry Potter. It just wasn't done, and if he remembered this moment on Monday he would have to apologize to him, but at the moment he was too far gone to care. 

He took a swig, and ended up with the dregs of his pint in his mouth. Making a face, he forced himself to swallow down the tasteless bubbles rather than spit them unceremoniously to the floor. 

"At least during the War I knew what I was supposed to be doing, if not how to do it." Harry made a face at his drink and took another long swig, nearly emptying the bottle.

"And you don't know what you're doing now?" Draco realized a moment too late that this question was perhaps not very tactful. Harry didn't seem too put off by it, though, and he regarded his lager quite seriously for a moment or two before answering. 

"Not really." Harry wasn’t speaking very loudly, so Draco leaned in. Their knees were touching again. 

"You've got a job you seem to really enjoy, two going on three great kids, a wife who married you because she actually loves you... and you don't know what you're doing?" Draco hoped he didn't sound patronizing or angry, because he wasn't. He was genuinely curious how someone like Harry, whom everyone in the entire universe adored, seemed so unhappy with his lot in life. 

Harry was beautiful through his obvious frustration - frustration that thankfully didn't seem to be aimed at him. Draco's words had obviously sparked something, though. He’d managed to push one of Harry's buttons, and he hoped he hadn't pushed too hard. 

Sighing heavily, Harry slumped in his chair and buried his face in his hands for a moment before looking up at him. "I don't think Ginny's loved me for a while." 

Draco’s mouth fell open a bit at the admission, and suddenly the tension during the game, how she had split the moment the match had ended without so much as a goodbye to her husband… it made a lot more sense. Draco had figured something was up. It had been rather obvious to just about everybody in the Ministry Box. Could it really be as drastic as Harry was letting on, though? 

He dug his knee into Harry’s, unable to stop himself from offering some form of comfort. Draco was able to tell from the look on his face at the moment that it truly was as drastic as all that. He was also acutely aware of the fact that Harry was confiding in him, and not in the Weasel, and not in Granger. Draco swallowed heavily, steeling himself against letting his own feelings get the better of him. He couldn’t disappoint Harry, not now.

It was difficult not to reach for his hand. Something, anything to wipe that look off his face. 

"I could tell something wasn't right this afternoon. I'm really... well... you can talk to me about it, if you like." Draco sounded like an absolute idiot to his own ears, but he didn’t know what else to say. He let himself bump shoulders with Harry, telling himself that it was definitely something Ron Weasley would have done in this situation. 

But hot anger surged in Harry's eyes then, replacing the emotional meltdown that Draco had been sure was about to happen. He was a little relieved. An angry Harry was, at least, one he knew how to deal with perfectly. An emotionally distraught one... well. A hole had been left in a chest cavity the last time they had met under those circumstances. Perhaps this turn of events was for the best. 

There was a permanent wall up around the issue after that. Harry didn’t want to talk about Ginny anymore, and Draco didn’t push him. Instead, Draco shared some stories about his own marriage, hoping to get Harry’s mind off of things. He’d never told anybody the whole truth about Astoria, and he felt his Oath catch his tongue several times as he drunkenly went into far too much detail. Harry’s eyes widened in astonishment several times at the things Draco admitted, and Ron, too drunk to deliver any drinks to them himself, had the barmaid returning regularly to their table to relieve them of their empty pint glasses and bring fresh ones. 

Draco didn’t remember all that he had actually told Harry at the end of the night, and had absolutely no idea how much they’d had to drink as they stumbled out of the pub together later on – except for the fact that it had been way too much.

~*~

_And with each passing day_  
The stories we say  
Draw us tighter into our addiction  
Confirm our conviction  
That some kind of miracle’s  
Passed on our heads 

~*~

“I can’t believe you live less than a mile away from me. How didn’t I know this?” Harry slurred his words together as he walked arm and arm with Draco down the sidewalk. They were on Draco’s block now, and it was very dark – he had specifically looked for a location away from the busiest streets and most popular hubs of London. It was below freezing out, but they both had so much alcohol in their systems that they barely noticed.

“Because you aren’t an Unspeakable. You don’t get to know things like that.” 

Harry stopped very suddenly, and Draco almost tripped headfirst into the side of a building. He caught himself with his palm against the bricks just in time. 

“You knew where I lived?” Harry asked incredulously. 

“I didn’t _know_ know, but I could have known quite easily, yes! What did you stop for, you arse? That bloody hurt!” Draco disentangled himself from Harry to lean against the wall as he fished his wand out of his pocket. When he tried to focus on his scraped palm his vision blurred, and he paused, thinking better of casting the healing spell. It wasn’t a horrible scrape; it could wait until morning. 

“You could have told me that you knew.” Harry leaned against the wall next to him, nearly pouting. 

He was really close, Draco noted. He could feel the heat radiating off the other man, and it was all too tempting to lean into him. Too dangerous. He eased along the wall a bit, but Harry eased right along with him, ending up closer to him than before. 

“No, I couldn’t have. Then you would have known that I knew, and you can’t know what I know. I can never tell you the things I know.” Draco winced, not sure why his mental filter wasn’t working. He wasn’t really making much sense, but he was coming very close to abusing The Oath again. The magic was tingling threateningly on the tip of his tongue, and Harry was an ever present weight against him, getting harder and harder to ignore. 

Harry turned to him, a familiar glint in his eye, and Draco inwardly groaned. He knew Harry was a little too curious about his job for both his and Draco’s own good, and a drunken Harry could not be trusted not to ask questions. He could be trusted about as much as a drunken Draco could be trusted not to attempt to answer those same questions through a sworn Oath. He wondered, not for the first time, whether Kilpatrick had a way of knowing how many times the Oath was actually invoked. 

“The Department of Mysteries just freaks me out,” Harry stated, finally looking away. Light from a streetlamp several feet away caught on his glasses at a strange angle, and Draco looked away, squinting. He could feel a headache coming on. 

“What’s so weird about it? It’s only there for your protection, you know.” 

A car drove by, and Harry didn’t respond at all until it had passed. He watched it until it turned the corner and then leaned his head back against the brick wall, taking a steadying breath. “Well, Sirius died there.” 

“Oh.” Draco had forgotten. “I’m sorry.” He felt Harry slide slowly down the wall, and there was nothing Draco could do but slide with him until they were both sitting on the cement, leaning against one another. At the slow movement, the world began to spin inside Draco’s head until he was properly settled. Who knew what disgusting substances he was sitting in, but at the moment it was hard for him to concentrate on such things. 

“I know that’s not the Department’s fault, though. It just creeps me out. I hate going there.” Harry spoke clearly and with surprising ease. Draco didn’t know how he managed it; he could barely even think about his mother, let about speak about her. But then again, Harry had had a lot more practice. He grimaced at the thought, and unconsciously linked arms with Harry. 

“Maybe I can come pick up your report from you from now on. I’m sorry -” Draco began, but Harry cut him off. 

“No, it’s not so bad. I like getting to talk to you.” 

Draco smiled. “I like talking to you, too. We could still talk in your office, you know.”

“I wouldn’t want to put you out. It’s really fine. As long as you’re there, I can handle it.” Harry’s head became a comfortable weight on his shoulder then, and Draco shivered and closed his eyes. 

What was happening? He was trying to appreciate this moment of unexpected closeness for all that it was, for all that he knew it would ever be, but he could not stop the tiny bud of hope that had begun to grow in his chest. It would be so easy, if he just turned his head…

No. _Fuck_ , no. Harry was straight, and that was it. They were both drunk, and Harry was going to hate himself in the morning, even for these simple touches. He was sure Harry didn’t get drunk and cuddle with Ron, or even with Hermione. This situation had to be Draco’s own fault somehow, it was the only explanation. Harry would realize that tomorrow, and Draco would lose him. 

“Draco?” Harry asked. He hadn’t moved an inch, seeming content to stay exactly where he was. Draco knew he had to stop this, now, but he couldn’t force himself to pull away. 

“Hmm?” 

Even his voice was shaky. If he opened his eyes, he knew the world would be spinning and there would be a very good chance he would pass out, right here, with Harry Potter lying nearly on top of him, leaning against someone’s flat down the block from his own. 

“What should I do? About Ginny, I mean. I just… I don’t know what to _do_.” Harry was shaking, huddling against him, and Draco’s heart plummeted into his stomach.

Swallowing heavily, he went over what he knew about the situation in his mind. “Well… you don’t seem very happy, Harry. I think you need to talk to her. Something needs to change. You deserve to be happy.”

Harry didn’t reply, but Draco could tell, even with eyes closed, that Harry had turned and was now looking at him. He chanced a peek, and found the world quite stationary. Only the dull ache in the back of his head was intensifying a bit, which he knew he very well deserved. 

Harry had a very strange look on his face.

It took Draco a few seconds to realize that, no, the world actually hadn’t begun to spin again, but Harry himself was slowly closing the distance between them. The split second before their lips met, Draco realized with sudden clarity what was about to happen, and he was sure his sudden intake of breath was not all that pleasant to kiss around. 

He was kissing him. Harry Potter, right now, he was… standing up. Unsteadily, leaning against the wall and muttering almost unintelligibly. “Oh… oh, fuck! Merlin, what have… oh, god...” 

Draco forced himself to his feet, and held Harry up by the shoulders. “Harry, are you okay? Are you going to pass out?”

“No, I… no.” Harry pulled himself out of Draco’s grasp, a look of horror upon his face. 

“It’s okay! Calm down, will you?” Draco could feel himself shaking. Things certainly weren’t okay, but he had to hold it together before Harry had a nervous breakdown. 

“I’m so sorry.” It was all but a whisper, almost choked from his mouth, and then Harry turned, took a couple of unsteady steps, and Apparated away from the street.

~*~

_Strange how we fit each other…_

~*~ 

 

_Friday October 10th, 2008_

Harry paced in his office during his lunch break, coldly eyeing his finished report. It lay there innocently mocking him from the corner of his desk. James and Albus Severus’ pictures smiled down at him, but he couldn’t look them in the eye without cringing. The events of the night played over and over again in his mind, and a horrible feeling was bubbled just beneath the surface of his skin. His stomach worst of all was turning in on itself in uncomfortable knots. The lunch that Ginny had made him was still in his desk drawer, and would undoubtedly be staying there, because the thought of food only amplified it all.

After what he’d put her through last night, it was probably poisoned, anyway.

Ginny. God. He’d Apparated home and she’d taken care of him in his state, despite everything. He hadn’t even been able to look at her without wanting to throw up, for reasons that he knew had nothing to do with the amount he’d had to drink.

He couldn’t allow himself to think about her, about what he’d done to her. He'd been sure, before this, that the way things were falling apart between them wasn't entirely his fault, but now he felt that he’d deserved it all along, that deserved it in advance. Whenever the image of her popped into his mind anyway, unbidden, he tried to focus on his finishing his report. He had to get it in today, that was for certain. Security had gotten so strict lately, he would be fired if he didn’t, Harry Potter or not. 

But he was equally certain that Malfoy would never want to see him again, not after last night. How could he have fucking _kissed_ him? How could he go into the man’s office again and face him after what he’d inflicted upon him? Malfoy would probably Hex him on the spot. 

The voice of reason within him kept trying to point out that he was being maybe just a little drastic about the whole situation. They weren’t kids anymore. How many times had he reminded himself of that fact? He and Malfoy were both adults. These kinds of things happened all the time, these kinds of drunken mistakes. It might even be pretty normal, this thing happening between equally consenting and drunken adults. Maybe regular people could just go back to work the next day and laugh it off, pretend it never happened. Maybe that’s what he and Malfoy could do. 

Harry stopped in the middle of his office with his face in his hands. As hard as he tried to convince himself, he just knew – inherently knew – that he’d made “laughing it off” or “pretending it hadn’t happened” impossible right after he’d freaked out and Apparated away. 

How in the bloody hell had he thought that was a good idea? Both the Apparating away while drunk, and also the kissing of the man who was his co-worker and who Harry believed might still hate him deep down inside. It was an insecurity that Harry hadn’t been able to get over, not completely, no matter how friendly the two of them had been as of late. Harry no longer hated him or even disliked him. Though he could not place the day or time this change had occurred, he only knew it had sometime over the last few months. They’d become friends. And last night, when Malfoy had been so kind and understanding and open with him… he couldn’t remember the last time someone had opened up to him that way. And he definitely couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt that he could actually trust someone enough to tell them about his problems. They’d been so fucking drunk. Was Malfoy even gay? He’d certainly kissed him back, though he’d seemed surprised at first. 

Harry had known for a long time that he liked both men and women, and he was quite aware that Malfoy was good-looking. He’d also been so caught up in his problems with Ginny and so used to believing himself absolutely in love that thoughts of Malfoy in that way hadn’t even crossed his mind. Not until he got so drunk he lost all his inhibitions. It would have been unthinkable a year or so ago. 

Now that he thought about it, Malfoy did sometimes get this weird look about him, when they were having lunch together or chatting in his office at the end of the day, as they’d done several times. This look that was at once open and closed, revealing and unsure. Harry had no idea what it meant, but he soon realized it was a signature Malfoy “look”, as similarly occurring as his usual smirk, but totally unknowable. It was as if Malfoy were contemplating him – it always began when they happened to catch each other’s eye. Malfoy’s face would change, and then close up completely, like a window blown open in a sudden breeze, but just as quickly slammed shut again. There was something going on in Malfoy’s head, and Harry longed to know what it was.

If he were being completely honest with himself, he had been wanting to know what it was for quite some time now. And as horrible as he felt about what had happened, there was still a part of him that couldn’t regret it. A resistant part, bitter and fed up with the course his own life was taking. How could he regret the first time he’d felt truly alive in months? 

Glancing at the clock on the wall behind his desk, he sighed. It was now or never. His next class started in fifteen minutes.

And so he walked, and with each step he could feel the tension knotting itself in his stomach even tighter. He rode the unnervingly empty elevator to the ninth level, and had to literally force himself forward to walk through the open grilles. At his entrance, several nondescript people at desks looked up, but they immediately returned to their work. Harry figured they must be used to random people coming into their department all the time, what with all the reports being delivered throughout the day. It was probably a nuisance for them – it was, after all, the Department of Mysteries, and as a generality he’d have imagined they would want to keep to themselves. 

Harry felt bad for any poor sod who didn't know where to deliver his report and would have to question this tough crowd, but he knew exactly where Malfoy’s office was. He walked past the main hall and the unfriendly receptionists, and took a right. 

The lights seemed brighter than usual, bearing down on him and forcing his anxiety to manifest itself in external ways instead of just tightly wound up in his chest. His breathing quickened with each step, and much too soon he could see Malfoy’s door in the distance. His hands were shaking, seeming to borrow nervous energy from his chest, but without relieving any of his anxiousness. 

He reached the door, and glanced at the silver nameplate with Malfoy’s name etched deeply in black. The door had a window filling nearly its entire length, the kind of windows people had in their bathroom. Vague shapes and light could filter through, but nothing defined or definite. He couldn't stand there long, knowing that if Malfoy happened to glance at the door he'd see a vaguely Harry Potter-shaped silhouette standing there. 

Taking a long deep breath, he knocked just twice, clipped and short, before his hand fell uselessly to his side. His other hand gripped the report under his arm so tightly that he could feel the thick binding digging into his palm. He was reminded of the paper cut he’d received at their first real encounter only a month before.

"Come in," Malfoy intoned, almost lazily. He was probably taking his lunch break, like other normal people. Harry envied him his calmness, while at the same time not really understanding. Draco had to be expecting him sometime. Wasn’t he anxious or mad at all? Or were the events of last night so far below him that he couldn’t even bother to be affected?

The door swung open then with a rush of air, and Harry stood, frozen. When he glanced into the office, he saw that Draco was seated at his desk, looking up at him with wide, surprised eyes. His wand was pointed towards the door, and with the other hand he’d apparently been writing with a quill on a piece of parchment. The quill was being held down against the parchment so hard that ink was spreading all over his document. 

“Hi,” Draco said, looking confused. He then noticed the mess he was making, and he cursed under his breath, standing and dropping the quill to his desk as he banished the ruined parchment. The quill rolled slowly toward the edge, but didn’t fall. 

Harry took a very tentative step inside.

~*~

Each time someone had knocked on his office door that afternoon, Draco had prepared himself to see Harry, and each time he had been disappointed and slightly relieved to see that it wasn’t him. Now his lunch hour was practically over, and he was fairly certain that Harry wasn’t going to show up. He would stop by Harry’s office before the end of the day to personally pick up his report, of course, because he didn’t want Harry getting in any trouble as result of something so petty. Draco understood why Harry didn’t want to see him, but he wasn’t going to let it affect his job. He wasn’t going to accept the guilt of having brought something like that upon Harry, along with everything else.

Draco had practically crawled home the night before. He hated to remember it, and he hoped none of his neighbors had been awake to witness his shameful retreat at that late hour. Somehow he’d made it up the stairs and into his own flat. Once he’d shut the door behind him, he managed to make it to the main floor bathroom, where he kept his hangover potion precisely for nights like this. He felt better after downing it, but the events of the evening were suddenly all that much clearer to him. 

He had forced himself to go to bed, but sleep hadn’t come easily. He couldn’t stop himself from reliving the kiss, seeing the horror and disgust on Harry’s face, over and over again. He’d never been more thankful for his wife’s many extended trips to France, because he didn’t think he’d be able to keep his cover tonight. She’d have taken one look at him and she’d have known. 

He missed Scorpius greatly. Draco had never known what it was like to truly love somebody until he’d looked into his son’s own cool grey eyes for the first time, so much brighter than his own. From that moment he was convinced that he was alive only for his son’s sake, and he couldn’t believe that he’d made it as far as he had in life without him to live for. Astoria didn’t always take him with her, but on this particular visit she had. He hadn’t seen Scorpius in over three weeks. 

Draco realized that there were unshed tears building in his eyes. At first, he hadn’t been able to understand why. Of course he missed his son, but he would be seeing him again in less than a week. 

Unbidden, Harry popped into his thoughts once more. The smile Harry had on his face when he’d greeted Draco at the Quidditch match earlier. The way Harry’s head had slipped so easily onto his shoulder. The way he’d laughed last week in the office after Draco had said something sarcastic – he couldn’t remember what it had been, but he had probably been calling him out on his Gryffindor tendancies. Harry had taken it in stride, of course. Just like everything else the world said about him, Harry didn’t take any of it to heart. Even with all of his problems, he was still able to shine with some inner light. Draco didn’t know how Harry did it. He hadn’t been blessed with any sort of inner light, had never been taught the glass half full approach to life. 

He knew then that he’d really grown to care about Harry. It wasn’t really his son he was upset about. He was upset over the fact that every day, he was starting to care about Harry in the same way that he cared about his son. He’d never let anybody else in so deeply in all his life. And there was no way to reverse it, no way to go back in time. Just like he couldn’t imagine life without his son, he couldn’t imagine just forgetting about Harry. Not anymore – not after being in the man’s presence often enough to see that the wonderful things people had always said about him, the same things he’d scoffed at for years, were unabashedly true. 

He’d never been more ashamed in his life of all the things he’d done and said to Harry over the years. And he’d never been so afraid of losing someone. At his desk that afternoon, he had actually been writing a memo to Harry, a very formal one, regarding stopping by later that afternoon when Harry had knocked. 

A thick, uncomfortable silence pervaded the room after Harry had stepped inside, looking much paler than usual. Draco didn’t know what to say to him. Was he here because he didn’t want to lose his job, or was he here because he actually wanted to talk to him about last night?

Without speaking, Harry approached the desk. Draco was still standing awkwardly behind it. Harry met his eyes for a brief moment before setting his report down on top of the small pile stacked there. He noticed that Harry’s breathing was restricted and his hands were shaking slightly. He didn’t know if that meant he was merely embarrassed, or something else entirely. Whatever it was, Harry was feeling something, and he was affected by what had happened. He knew he would regret not saying anything if Harry were to just walk out right now. He had to do something, had to fix this somehow. 

"Listen, Harry. About last – " 

"I'm really sorry. I was really drunk. It was a really stupid thing for me to do,” Harry interrupted quickly, sounding as if he’d rehearsed the lines in his head a million times over. He wouldn’t look at Draco, but he glared fiercely at the ground, as if trying to convince the tiled floors to believe him. 

Draco’s heart fell, but he could live with Harry viewing it all as a big mistake, if that meant he wasn’t going to lose him. That was by far the most important thing. "It’s okay. Really. We can just forget about it."

Harry looked up at him and exhaled quickly, almost a laugh but not quite, and it was clear he was trying to smile but it wasn't quite reaching the corners of his lips. He looked like he wanted to say more, but he didn’t – he just turned and walked swiftly toward the door. 

Draco watched him, wondering if things would ever be okay between them if Harry insisted on walking out every time things got awkward, when Harry tripped over the garbage can near the door in his haste to leave. He didn’t fall, but he was unsteadied, and a deep red blush crept its way up the back of his neck. 

"Harry?" Draco held his breath, coming around the side of his desk, leaving behind his safety as one hand ran idly through his hair and he inched closer to him. “You okay?”

Harry turned around to face him, face flaming. “I’m a fucking idiot.” 

He knew it was probably unkind, but he had to laugh. The situation had to be the most awkward, horrible one he’d ever encountered. Harry didn’t seem to hate him, though, which was the one perk of it. “You’re not an idiot. I do that about three times a day. I would have taken that secret to my grave if I didn’t want to make you feel better, by the way.”

Harry seemed to be fighting back a smile again. “Not that. Just - I really am sorry. The last thing I wanted was to fuck this up. You’re the only one I can talk to.” He let his arms fall loosely to his side, and tilted his head down so far his chin was nearly touching his chest. “Please tell me I haven’t fucked this up,” he whispered. 

Draco would have given anything to kiss him again at that moment, but he knew that wasn’t going to help matters. His heart was becoming more and more content in the knowledge that Harry didn’t want to lose him, either. He’d take it. The promise of real friendship could be enough for him. It had to be; it was better than the alternative. 

"You haven’t fucked this up. Not by a long shot.”

Harry looked up, a faint smile on his face. It was the first genuine emotion Draco had seen on his face all day. His smile was like a beacon, and Draco couldn’t look at anything else. The only thing he understood was that he needed to hold on to this, carve the image into his memory. 

“Thank you,” Harry said, almost shyly.

Draco smiled back as best he could, and cleared his throat. “After you get off, would you, ah... like to go out for a drink, maybe?" 

Green eyes widened behind their frames almost comically. "Um. A drink?" 

"Yes. You know." Draco pantomimed reaching for a cup and tipping his head back. "Just a drink. Non-alcoholic, if you prefer - that way we can avoid any fiascos. We can just talk." 

"Oh. Well then, sure. I mean – all right. Sounds good. What time?" 

“I’ll meet you in your office around six thirty, since it’s closer to the Atrium.” Draco leaned back to grip the edges of his desk for support. He was feeling a little shaky. “I mean, if that’s okay.” 

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Harry looked at him then, and Draco would have given anything to know what was going on inside his head. His own heart was beating like mad. He tried to push aside the feelings of desire that were at war with his conscience, but it was next to impossible. It was something he’d have to work on, weed out of his system. He wanted to be a proper friend to Harry. He didn’t deserve anything less. 

But it was difficult to even contemplate burying those feelings when Harry was looking at him like that, as if he were trying to dig his way into Draco’s own head to figure him out. 

Harry turned and walked toward the door, and for a moment Draco thought he was running away again, but instead he just shut the door softly, and turned to face him. There was something entirely different in his demeanor, something that hadn’t been there a moment ago, and something that definitely hadn’t been there when he’d first come into the office that afternoon. 

He looked like a broken man, one who’d been up all night praying but who’d somehow missed out on the salvation of morning. He didn’t look any less nervous than before, but he’d stopped hiding his confusion from Draco. It was all on display, from the intense creasing of his brow to the lower lip he had tucked between his teeth. It was there that Draco focused his intention, watching intently the tongue that wormed its way out to wet the lips, and he hardly noticed that Harry had moved forward again. 

Then Harry was right there in front of him, and the energy radiating off of him made the hair on Draco’s body stand on end. Draco couldn’t let Harry do what he had a feeling he was about to do, though every cell in his body seemed to be anticipating Harry’s touch, and every part of him wanted it, craved it with all that he was. 

“Harry, please. We can’t…” Draco began, but he couldn’t say more. Harry had leaned into him, had aligned himself with him, and he had nowhere to go. Harry’s hands gripped the desk to either side of him. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Harry began, a low rumble that made Draco nearly moan aloud. “I don’t know what this means.” 

He was so close. It was like he was sapping all Draco’s energy, all his brain power. His decision-making skills seemed to have vanished, and his hands seemed to think it was a very good idea to touch Harry’s forearms, easily accessible as they were beside him. He could feel the blood pumping through the skin, could feel Harry shiver slightly at the touch. 

“I don’t know either, but I don’t want - oh, God, Harry...” Harry had dipped his head, and was ghosting over the skin of his neck and just below his ear with his lips. “Please, if I lost you for good over this, I’d… I’d never forgive myself.”

Harry’s arms moved, to lightly rest on Draco’s waist where his trousers met skin. “You won’t lose me over this. I don’t know what’s going happen, but I can promise you’ll never lose me.” 

There was nothing for it. Maybe if Harry had gone along with the ‘mistake’ idea, he could have ignored his own desires, but not while Harry was feeding into them like this. He melted, literally seemed to become one with his desk when Harry kissed him, until Harry smiled against his lips and pulled him up, into his arms.

Draco was lost.

~*~

_And now I am sure_  
Like never before  
Of my reasons for defying reason  
Embracing the seasons  
We dance through the colors  
Both followed and led 

~*~ 

 

_Monday December 22nd, 2008  
Morning_

Draco awoke when he heard a small pop. He’d been dreaming, and for once it had been quite nice. Maybe if he kept his eyes shut, refused to acknowledge the morning, he could fall right back to sleep, and into Harry’s arms…

There was a sudden dip in the bed on the side closest to him. His eyes shot open, but he relaxed when he saw that it was the real Harry, kneeling and resting his elbows on the edge of the bed and wearing hideous red-flannel pajama bottoms.

“Hi,” Harry said almost shyly, a small smile on his face. He lifted his wand and cast a silent spell on Draco’s mouth, which left behind a strong minty taste. Draco made a face at him for showing off, and also for the unexpected cleansing – he was not feeling fully awake yet. 

But then Harry leaned forward and kissed him, and he promptly forgot about being annoyed. 

Draco sighed into his mouth, unable to stop himself from turning the kiss into something much more passionate than the simple good morning kiss Harry had perhaps envisioned. His tongue slipped into Harry’s mouth, and Harry struggled to find a better kneeling position to reach him better. Draco’s hand moved over Harry’s torso, reveling in the warmth of his skin and the distinct tangibility of him. He’d been dreaming about him, of course, but the reality of him was infinitely nicer. Harry pulled away eventually, still smiling down at him but now looking sufficiently snogged. 

“Well, hi,” Draco breathed. “Back so soon?” 

“Yes. Is that all right?”

“Are you kidding?” Without waiting for a response, he tugged insistently at Harry’s arms, pulling him into the bed he’d vacated just several hours earlier. They settled in together underneath the sheets, a familiar routine by now, while Harry’s fingers played a distinct pattern on Draco’s lower stomach. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just… realized I couldn’t face you today at work without apologizing first.” 

Draco gave him a blank look. 

“For last night.” Harry said, as if that explained everything, except that it didn't.

“You are apologizing for what, exactly?” 

"For just... not even a word. I just came through the floo and threw off the duvet and - I'm so sorry, Draco. I should have said something." A deep blush filled his cheeks, and Draco almost laughed before he realized he was serious. 

"Harry, for fuck's sake! You’re not joking?" 

“No, not joking.” Harry wouldn’t meet his eyes. His fingers lay flat against his stomach, and Draco shivered slightly before he could go on. 

“You really have no idea, do you? Last night was - well, a surprise, certainly, but I’m not sorry about it.” Draco took Harry’s face in his hands, forcing him to look at him. "Harry?"

“I don’t know what came over me,” he whispered, inching closer. “Things were bad with Ginny, as usual, and I had to get out of there. I couldn’t think about anything but you. Being near you. Being in you.” Harry winced. “Did I hurt you?”

Draco shook his head and swallowed heavily, feeling slightly awkward that Harry had brought up his wife. He hated to think about her when they were together, and he didn’t like how Harry would pull away from him at the mere mention of her, would go someplace else in his mind. He didn’t know how Harry expected him to respond to any topic regarding her, either. It was so much easier to tiptoe around it, to ignore it. It was what he’d done all his married life – almost second nature by now. But Harry’s conscience wasn’t nearly as lenient, and Draco could see in his eyes how much he hated himself for what he was doing. Every time Harry left, a part of Draco was convinced it was the last time - yet, for the better part of two months now, he had returned. It was something Draco was continually trying to stop taking for granted. 

“I’m still sorry that I didn’t explain myself to you.” Harry had left almost immediately afterwards, without saying very much. Draco hadn’t known what to make of the abruptness of it. All their previous encounters had been preplanned and purposeful, but last night had been something different entirely. He’d grown to understand that Harry was a very passionate, yet very careful lover. The Harry that had appeared in his bedroom last night had been burning with intensity, and he’d taken everything he wanted without asking for it, and… he’d been positively _hot_. 

But then he left, just as suddenly as he had arrived, and Draco had felt oddly ill at ease. He’d thought about it until he finally fell asleep, and then he’d dreamt of falling asleep in Harry’s arms – something that had never happened. Draco wasn’t sure it ever would. Spending the night seemed to be an invisible line Harry had drawn around their whole arrangement, and it reminded Draco of Henri – of how very differently he felt about Harry, and how differently that same rule applied to Harry made him feel. 

“You could have waited until we saw each other this afternoon, you know. Not that I’m complaining,” Draco said, finding Harry’s hand between them and giving it a squeeze. 

“Well,” Harry began, fingers of his other hand reviving and inching lower, gracing the waistline of his pajamas. Draco held his breath. “I suppose there’s also the fact that I woke up alone and hard and wishing I was still here, with you.” 

Draco closed his eyes and kissed him, hard. He didn’t trust himself to try and explain to Harry how he could have been here with him, quite easily. It wasn’t like Draco had asked him to leave. Harry had been a little wary of doing anything in Draco’s flat in the beginning, but Draco had assured him that his bedroom was heavily warded – for ‘work-related reasons’, which was what his wife believed. There was no chance of being caught or heard. Draco and Harry were the only ones to whom the wards would allow admittance. There was nothing but Harry’s own reluctance keeping him away, and they both knew it. 

Harry’s ever-southbound hand slipped beneath the waistband of Draco’s pajamas then, and his breathing hitched mid-kiss, all other thought processes abruptly shifting to the back of his mind. Harry grinned against his mouth, deft fingers slowly stroking him to full hardness. 

He could feel Harry’s own erection against his thigh, and he moved purposefully against it, making Harry moan and rock back against him, squeezing his fingers tightly around Draco’s cock. 

“Fuck me, Harry,” Draco gasped, burying his face in Harry’s neck as he began to stroke him again, less gently this time. He recalled the sensation of Harry filling him last night, the pounding and the barely constrained power that was constantly shifting beneath Harry’s skin. There hadn’t been any kissing, any preparation. Harry had simply taken him, and Draco had enjoyed it far more than he ever would have imagined. 

He felt Harry shake his head. “No. I want…” He stopped stroking and began to run the tips of his fingers up and down Draco’s length lightly, almost mindlessly, enough to keep Draco sufficiently distracted. “I want you to fuck me.” 

“What?” Draco pulled back, surprised. “Are you sure? Have you ever...?”

Harry blushed again, and Draco couldn’t help but kiss him for it. “No, I haven’t,” Harry murmured against Draco’s lips, “but I can’t stop thinking about it.” 

“What have you been thinking?” Draco’s heart was pounding in his chest at just the thought of being inside Harry. He’d thought about it, of course, but he never would have pushed for it, and probably never would have outright asked. He wouldn’t do anything that might upset the careful balance between the two of them, which he knew could come tumbling down any moment. He couldn’t fuck it all up over something so trivial. 

“I’ve been thinking that I want to be yours in a way that… that’s only yours.” Harry had removed his hand from around Draco, and he used it to pull him closer, aligning them chest to chest. Draco could hardly breathe. “I had nothing else I could think of to give you.”

Draco found he couldn’t look Harry in the eye as he spoke. He could scarcely contemplate the words coming out of Harry’s mouth. “Harry, you don’t have to give me anything, you know that.”

“But I want to.”

“Why?” The single word had come out sounding agonized, against his will. Embarrassed, he let his forehead fall onto Harry’s shoulder, and he instructed himself to take deep breaths, to hold on to the simple warmth that arms surrounding him were providing. 

“Look at me,” Harry instructed, and Draco found himself shaking his head. He didn’t think he could speak without his voice breaking again. Then he felt Harry shift lower, one of his hands coming to rest gently on his cheek. “Draco, please look at me,” he whispered. 

Draco finally conceded, knowing there was nothing he could hide from Harry in the end. He’d give Harry anything he asked for. Draco knew that his eyes were brimming with tears, and that he was shaking in Harry’s arms, and he wanted to hide underneath his duvet rather than look Harry in the eye, but when he finally did, there was nothing but tenderness in the green gaze. Nothing but understanding. Draco took a shuddering breath, and then asked again. “Why?”

“You won’t laugh, will you?”

Draco gave him the best Malfoy glare he could manage under the circumstances. “Do I really look like someone who’s going to laugh at you?”

“I suppose not,” Harry sighed, a small smile momentarily crossing his features before he became quite serious again. “It’s just that, I thought being content was the most I could expect out of life.”

“Content?”

“I was content in my life, and in my marriage. Well, discounting the last few months, I guess. I was happy enough. I’d never really felt happier than that, you know? I didn’t know there was another level to it. That was the happiest I had ever been before, so I wasn’t complaining.” Harry’s hand made its way to the back of Draco’s neck then, softly threading through the soft hair there. “But then I met you.”

“Again,” Draco muttered, not sure why he was interrupting. 

“Yes, again. I met you again. And I don’t know how things ended up this way, but I’ve never in my life met someone who makes me feel so… god, don’t laugh.” Harry rested his forehead against Draco’s, and Draco could only give a small nod to indicate he would not, under any circumstances, laugh. “I care about you like I’ve never cared about anyone. I want to be with you all the time, you challenge me and you make me laugh and you see me exactly as I am, nothing more, and… you’re beautiful. Draco, I wish I had more, but I have nothing left to give you but myself.” 

Draco couldn’t move, for fear of breaking the moment in half, of destroying it with some careless phrase. This was exactly what he wanted. Harry was telling him exactly what he wanted to hear, and that was exactly why it scared him so much to hear it. There had to be a ‘but’ in there somewhere. There surely was a clause that stated Draco Malfoy could not really have Harry Potter, because nothing in his life had ever been that simple. He wasn’t about to believe that this could be. This, the very first time in his life he could remember wanting to share his good fortune with the entire world rather than hide it away. 

“Please say something,” Harry whispered.

“I don’t know what to say.” Draco forced himself to pull away slightly, to see Harry more clearly. “You said I’d never lose you, but I just…”

“You don’t believe me.” 

“How could I be so presumptuous, Harry?” he asked softly, trying to bring out the seed of doubt in Harry’s mind that he knew existed before he grew far too accustomed to the overwhelming happy feeling in his heart. He couldn’t let anything Harry said sink in. “You say you want to give me yourself, and that you wish you could give me more, but you don’t really mean that, do you? Your boys are everything to you. You’re going to have a new baby in a month, and you’re just killing yourself slowly every time you’re with me, can’t you see that?” 

“What are you saying?” Harry’s eyes had grown hard. He’d put up a little shield around himself, and Draco could feel it, had known that he would feel it. He’d never wanted to feel it again, but he knew he would have sooner or later. He had to keep telling himself how much better it was this way. 

“Please don’t think I don’t understand, Harry. I don’t think I’ve ever been as happy as I have been since we met.” 

“Again,” Harry echoed him quietly.

“Again,” Draco agreed. “But you’d never abandon your kids, Harry. You’d never do that to them. I know you. It’s only a matter of time before you realize it yourself.” 

Then Harry was kissing him, nearly crushing his mouth. He was gripping the back of Draco’s head so tightly that he saw stars, but nothing could force him to pull away from the maddening brutality of it. Action felt good, after so much openness and so many words. It had always been the most direct approach between the two of them, the natural line of communication. Then just as forcefully, Harry pulled away.

“Are you asking me to choose?” he asked, voice dangerous and low. Draco shuddered. 

“God, no,” he managed to get out. “You forget, I have a son, too. You think I don’t understand? You think I don’t get it? There is no choice…” 

“There isn’t.” Harry kissed him once more, almost desperately. “There is no choice.” 

“Okay.” Draco struggled to smile, but couldn’t quite manage it. “Okay. That’s settled, then.”

They both jumped when Draco’s alarm clock went off. 

Harry looked at the offending clock over Draco’s shoulder, swearing under his breath at the time. He climbed out of bed while Draco leaned over to grab his wand and turn it off. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, feeling numb and disoriented by the sudden silence. 

“I meant everything I said, Draco,” Harry said, biting his lip. “Maybe I can get away after the kids are asleep Christmas Eve. How does that sound?”

Draco nodded, looking up at him standing there so defiantly in his bedroom. Harry was going to keep pushing, he realized for the first time. Harry really did mean everything that he said. He wasn’t going to make a choice. He was going to run himself into the ground, until his own guilt destroyed him.

“Fuck, don’t you get it?” Harry pulled him to his feet. “Stop it! You’re giving up, and I can’t stand it.” 

“What the hell am I supposed to do, Harry?”

Harry’s brow furrowed. “Stop being an idiot, for one, and kiss me goodbye.” 

Draco did, all the while pondering the double entendre of Harry’s choice of words. And then with a turn Harry was gone, back to his wife and his children, and Draco knew, without a doubt, that it was up to him to save Harry from himself.

~*~

_Time unfolds the petals_  
For our eyes to see  
Strange how this journey's hurting  
In ways we accept as part of fate's decree 

~*~

_Wednesday, December 24th 2008_  
Christmas Eve

"Are you okay?" Harry asked delicately, as if he were afraid of disturbing the quiet, snowy ambiance around them as they made their way up the front path to The Burrow. The silence was heavy, like a blanket, and everything around them was peacefully bathed in the orange glow of dusk. It was Draco’s favorite time of day, but his nerves were keeping him from enjoying even that small fact. 

Glancing over at Harry, Draco managed to roll his eyes. "Of course I'm okay," he lied, and at the narrowing of Harry's eyes Draco knew that he didn't believe him for a second. 

They had reached the bottom of the stairs. Harry turned, holding out an arm to stop Draco from going any farther. "You’re whiter than a ghost, Draco. Are you sure about this?" 

"I said I would come. They're expecting me, aren't they?" Draco gestured vaguely to the Burrow, bedecked in snow and lights and lopsided wintry splendor. It looked bright inside, and warm - the way Draco had always imagined a home during Christmas should be. It reminded him of Hogwarts. 

He’d always gone home over the holiday, but in truth he’d always regretted having to go. Manor Christmases had been a dreary affair, as Lucius had been pretty single-minded during his son’s formative years. His mother had done her best to be cheerful, but Christmas had just never been a very big deal at home. Those first few days of Christmas he got to experience each year at Hogwarts had become one of his fondest memories.

He had to remind himself that the warm home in front of him was also filled with little Weasleys and little Potters, Harry's wife and children and family. The joyful kind of Christmas he had always envisioned had never included a house full of people he was helping to deceive. 

He’d always tried to make Christmastime a happy, memorable time for Scorpius, but he didn’t even have Christmas morning with his son to look forward to this year. After an argument with Astoria several evenings ago, she had taken Scorpius to her parents’ house for the week. His own mother had passed away, and Lucius was in Azkaban and as good as dead in Draco’s mind. He had no other family members, and no friends he kept in very close contact with anymore. 

The idea of spending Christmas without his son and without Harry, alone, had finally started to sound too desolate, even for him. But he had seriously considered it for a while, adamantly refusing to even acknowledge Harry's initial invitation in his mind. The very idea of him in the Weasleys' home was absurd. And with the knowledge in his own mind of the reality of the situation, he didn't know whether he could stand to be there, in the same room with the woman who claimed Harry for her own in a way that Draco had neither right nor privilege. He was afraid his own resentment would overcome him.

Harry had persisted, though. Every day when they spoke at lunch or at the end of the day, he had reiterated how different things supposedly were now. “Everyone was really positive about you coming when I brought it up. Ron was sort of weird about it, but then again, he's Ron, isn't he... he'll come around." Harry had acted like it was going to be no big deal. Maybe it didn’t have to be. 

He had decided to go. 

And now, making his way up the front steps, he found himself intensely regretting his decision. 

Draco had to remind himself not to grab Harry's hand for support. He had to keep everything to himself tonight, every thought and instinct, and he’d have to act as if Harry had never opened up his world in a way he hadn't even considered a possibility. He had to act as if he and Harry were merely very good working mates. He'd watch him interact with his family in a way that Harry might have wanted to act with him, but had never quite allowed himself to. 

He didn't really know what he was doing here, except feeding the nearly masochistic urge that had wondered about the outcome of a night such as this. 

"Daddy's here!" shrieked a small boy, the spitting image of Harry sans the glasses and the scar. He was struggling to get the screen door open on his own. Shouts of greeting emanated from inside, against the background buzz of conversation and the laughing, high-pitched voices of children. Teacups tinkered in their saucers. A baby began to cry. Draco felt frozen. 

"Back up, Al, let me get it..." Harry grinned as he eased the door open finally, and picked up his son.

“Albus, this is my good friend Draco Malfoy.” 

“Hello, Albus,” Draco found himself able to speak, somehow. He was glad his body could at least do that much on autopilot. 

Albus Severus Potter stared at him unblinkingly, before deciding he was going to be shy. He smiled sheepishly, an expression that reminded Draco so forcefully of Harry that he could only stand there staring as the boy buried his face in Harry’s neck. Harry smiled, planting a kiss on the top of Albus’ head before pushing the door open further, and gesturing with his free arm for Draco to come in. 

Draco felt a little lightheaded, but he entered with his head held high.

~*~

“Nobody’s going to hex him, you know,” Hermione whispered in Harry’s ear. Harry jumped, almost spilling wine all down his front.

“What?” he asked, turning to face her. She’d come up behind him while he’d been sneakily adding a few last minute presents to the enormous pile already under the tree. 

Hermione laughed. “You haven’t taken your eye off Draco all night. You look so worried, Harry. I admit I wasn’t sure at first, but Molly and Andromeda sure seem to have taken him under their wing, haven’t they?” 

Harry forced himself to smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I just want to make sure no one gives him a hard time, you know?” 

“It’s good of you. I’m thrilled you’ve made such good friends with him. Now, if the entire Wizarding World could just take a lesson from the two of you… can you imagine that?” Hermione beamed. “Though it already seems to have made an impact on this family.” 

It was true. It had been a little awkward at first, but the Weasleys had warmed to Draco almost immediately – Molly, especially. She’d stolen him away from Harry’s side, dragging him to the kitchen to feed him and chiding him for being so thin. Draco had looked vaguely terrified. Harry sent him an encouraging smile from his place on the living room floor, covered in children – he’d been tackled to the ground by the growing Weasley brood the second he’d entered the house. 

“Must you get them all riled up before dinner?” Ginny grumbled from her place on the couch next to Ron. Ron poked her lightly in the belly in response. She was due in less than a week. Harry had been warmed to find out they would be having a girl – he loved his boys to death, but he couldn’t wait to have a daughter to spoil, as well. The idea left a lingering warmth in his stomach, and he grabbed James in one arm and Albus in the other and pulled them to his chest, kissing and squeezing them until they grew aggravated and pushed him away, laughing.

“Ron, will you quit touching me!” 

“Oh, lighten up, would you? It’s Christmas.” Ron hadn’t once glanced away from the small, now-sleeping bundle in his arms – his youngest, Hugo, only a couple of months old. Rose crawled away from the group of children in the center of the floor to settle herself – a little jealously – on the ground between her father’s legs, clinging to him and sucking her thumb. At a stern look from Hermione, the thumb popped out again. She wiped it on Ron’s trousers. 

After a little while, Andromeda and Teddy arrived. Harry felt like an idiot for not ever putting two and two together, for not even mentioning to Draco that they would be coming. He had known it, but just hadn’t really pieced it together, the fact that they would be here and what that would mean for Draco. 

Draco had trailed out of the kitchen after Molly at their arrival, trading an anxious look with Harry before realizing who the newcomers were. Harry watched Draco stop short, watched his mouth fall open in such an expression of shock that it was difficult not to get up and go to him. Harry didn’t even need to speak with Draco to understand implicitly what had happened – Harry himself had mistaken Andromeda for another of her sisters, once. 

Andromeda herself had taken one look at Draco, burst into tears, and pulled him into a firm embrace. Draco still seemed to be in a mild state of shock, but as Andromeda began to speak, the tension visibly left Draco’s body and he smiled – the first genuine smile Harry had seen on his face all evening. 

Ten year-old Teddy had been wary around Draco at first, had gone to his godfather to ask if Draco really was his cousin, and Harry had sat down with him to draw a small family tree so that the boy would understand. After that, Teddy had been so excited to have another blood-related relative there that he’d clung to Draco all during dinner and presents. Draco had looked relieved to have something else, someone else to focus on for the night, and even though Harry knew Teddy could be a bit exhausting, he was glad. 

Next to the tree, Hermione nudged him and leaned in to speak quietly again. “You’re so tense, Harry. Why don’t you go take a breather? I’ll keep an eye on the kids, and on Draco. He’s fine with Teddy and George.” 

Harry stared at her, wondering if she had any inkling at all of the reality of the situation. If anyone would have been able to figure things out, it was Hermione. But she didn’t look angry, and she didn’t look even vaguely questioning, either. She had half an eye across the room on Ron holding the baby, and the other half on Rose who was pulling a toy away from James. It was a wonder she wasn’t cross-eyed by now, Harry thought. He also realized with a lurch that their days of figuring out secrets and saving the school were well and truly over. His best friends were parents now, just as he was, and they no longer searched for hidden truths. Not even Hermione. He supposed he should have been grateful for that fact, but it left him feeling strangely sad. 

He took a moment to be sure Draco truly was all right before heeding Hermione's advice. Draco seemed well and truly engaged by Teddy's antics for the moment, so Harry quietly retreated out the back door.

Taking a deep breath of the freezing air, Harry stood with his back to the door, just appreciating for a moment that there was no one else around him. He needed to be alone for a little while, to absorb the events of the night thus far and force himself to relax. 

The sun had almost completely set, but there was a purplish tint to the sky that reflected off the snow on the ground. After clearing off some of the snow that had fallen on top of the picnic table, he sat down on top of it and tried to gather his thoughts and emotions, but found it impossible. The best he could do was to allow himself to tremble freely, and let go of the idea that he had to hold himself together. For a few moments, he could let himself freak out, and not worry about the repercussions of anyone noticing.

He wasn’t sorry he had invited Draco, because he knew that meeting Andromeda and Teddy was going to positively impact Draco for the rest of his life. However, he was going to be very glad when the evening was over. What had he been thinking? There was nothing easy or guilt-free about cheating on his wife in the first place, but to bring all involved parties together under one roof? He’d never felt more like cracking in his life, not even during the war. 

And what if Andromeda and Teddy hadn’t come? Draco would have been utterly miserable the entire night, and it would have been all Harry’s fault for inviting him and then insisting that he come. He’d just wanted to give Draco more, share as much of himself as he possibly could. But he conceded now that one big happy family Christmas was probably not the best idea. In fact, it had been downright selfish of him.

The back door opened and closed again, breaking Harry out of his reverie. He looked up sharply, adrenaline now flowing through his veins and putting him on edge. He relaxed only slightly when he saw that it was Draco coming toward him, each step he took crunching through the snow and reverberating through Harry’s ears harshly. 

He smiled guardedly at him as he approached, and Draco returned with a brief, shaky smile of his own before taking a seat next to him on the picnic table. They were in plain view of the side living room window, so they kept a careful distance between them. Harry could see Ron and Ginny on the couch from where he sat, and even though they probably wouldn’t be able to make him or Draco out very well in the darkness, there was no sense in being careless.

Draco let out a long sigh, and then turned to face him, elbows resting lazily on his knees. "Sickel for your thoughts?" 

Harry let out a short laugh, a small amount of tension leaving his body. "Wow, a whole Sickle?" 

"Well, I figure that a Knut is only good for one thought, and I want to know at least a few more than that." 

Echoing Draco’s sigh, Harry rested his chin in his hands and looked passed the Burrow to the dark, lonely field beyond that stretched until it reached a dense line of trees. “Fuck, I don’t even know. Christmas is just a bad idea.” 

"You've got a vendetta against Christmas?" 

"Absolutely. He Who Must Not Be Jolly." 

There was silence for moment before Draco chuckled to himself. "Even for you, Potter, that was pretty lame." 

"Well, aside from the obvious reasons of the night, I’ve never done the whole Christmas thing very well, anyway. I think about my parents, I think about Teddy, and wonder if he feels the same way I did without a family at Christmas –" 

"But he doesn’t, Harry – he's got you, hasn't he? And his grandmum and the Weasleys…”

“And you,” Harry added, turning his face in his hands to smile sideways at him. 

Draco looked surprised all over again, but he smiled, too. “Trust me when I say that meeting up with long lost relatives was the last thing I expected to happen this evening." He took a deep breath. "Teddy's a great kid, and Andromeda..." Draco's words faltered a bit; he cleared his throat. "Despite you, this evening hasn’t been half bad,” 

Harry didn’t laugh. He bit his lip, not in anger but just in simple resignation that there was absolutely nothing he could do to make this night any better for either himself or for Draco. 

“I’m sorry… I was kidding,” Draco added. 

“It’s true, though. This whole mess is my fault,” Harry spoke softly, bitterly. 

“Harry, shut up. It’s a fucking mess, yeah, but we’re almost through it. And seeing you this evening hasn’t been complete torture, just for the record.”

“No?”

“No. Seeing you with James and Albus - Harry, you’re an amazing father.” Draco looked away from him then, ducking his head and seeming to deflate. “If your wife took them away from you on Christmas you’d probably traverse the entire world just to be with them, I’m sure.”

Harry sighed. “Don’t beat yourself up about that. You love Scorpius. He knows that and that’s all that matters.”

“I don’t tell him enough.”

Harry knew he was treading in mine field – Scorpius was a sensitive subject for Draco. Harry had picked up on that the very first day he’d dropped off his weekly report. But he had to explain himself, and had to make sure Draco knew he wasn't doing anything wrong. "You’re a great father, Draco. I know that just from listening to you talk about him. There’s no way he doesn’t know how much you care about him. And I... I suppose I go above and beyond the parental call of duty sometimes, because it’s my main goal that my kids never go a day without knowing how much I love them. I promised myself, the moment I found out we were going to have James, and I just… I want them to have the most perfect memories. I spent one Christmas with my Mum and Dad. I wish I could remember anything about it. _Anything_ ," he finished on an impassioned note. He reigned himself back in and after a silent moment, he continued. "My kids will never have to dig for those memories. I’m going to make sure of it.” 

Harry turned to him, but Draco hadn't moved. He seemed lost in his thoughts, suddenly introspective and staring fiercely into the distance. Harry moved several inches closer to him; he couldn't help it. 

“You okay?” Harry asked.

Draco finally turned to him, surprised. “Yeah, fine. Why?” 

Harry shook his head. “I don’t know, I'm just so frustrated, I guess. I’m so sorry to put you through this, Draco. It was selfish of me, but I just wanted you to know that I -” 

But Harry stopped, because Draco had abruptly turned his head away. "It's okay, Harry. I don’t blame you. I didn't have to come, and I'm not sorry I did." 

"I'm not sorry either, in a way. I’m sorry this night has been so hard, but I wanted you to be here. You’re like family to me, Draco. Like my boys.” Harry nodded up towards the window, where James and Al and their cousins were playing together in the light of the fire. Their shadows extended out through the window and onto the crisp white snow in front of them. 

“I love them,” Harry said, turning towards Draco and wanting more than anything to be able to touch him, to look into his eyes. “Draco,” he whispered, and seemingly just because Harry had willed it he did turn to look at him then. “Draco, I love you too.” 

Draco’s eyes bore into his, the intensity seeming to wax and wane at random, without logic, without understanding. Harry swallowed heavily. He hadn’t meant to pronounce that, even though it was the truth beyond a shadow of a doubt. It was horrible timing, seeing as he couldn’t kiss Draco here, couldn’t convince Draco of his sincerity, which he knew Draco still doubted. 

"What about her?" Draco whispered, and Harry didn’t have to ask who he meant. 

Harry glanced to the window again. He saw Molly passing out cookies to the grandchildren out of a tin, an old one that she refilled each year with new batches and flavors. Because the boys hadn’t eaten a very good dinner, Ginny had expressly forbidden them from having any cookies, but Molly as usual took no heed. Ginny's furious look over her shoulder at her mother was almost comical.

But she’d always been fiery. Ginny wouldn’t have made it very long during her sixth year at Hogwarts if she hadn’t had that spirit of rebellion within her, that stubborn strength that had most certainly kept her alive and kept her strong. Harry had loved her because of that spirit, he couldn't possible begrudge its existence within her in any form, couldn’t possibly blame her for the past several months. She'd had every reason to be angry, to push back, to push him away.

Harry closed his eyes tightly. "Ginny is a part of me, Draco. I do care about her, I always have and I always will, despite the issues we’ve been having. But I've never been _in_ love with her.” Harry smiled sadly. "So this is how it feels." 

“Harry,” Draco started, then looked up at the sky, opening his eyes wide, trying to clear them, perhaps. “Fucking hell,” he almost laughed. “What can we do?”

“I’ve been thinking about leaving my wife,” Harry whispered, even though he’d only thought about it in passing before. “After the kids have gone away to Hogwarts, I think I could do it then. They'd be old enough to understand it better, you know?”

Harry wasn’t sure, but Draco might have looked even more surprised than he had upon seeing his Aunt Andromeda earlier that evening. Harry inched closer to him across the picnic table, until their arms were brushing, just barely but enough that he snapped Draco out of his daze. 

“Not until they leave for Hogwarts,” Draco repeated, slowly gaining momentum. “You _think_ you could do it then? In eleven fucking years, Harry? We’ll be almost forty years old!”

“So? Does that honestly matter to you?”

Draco shook his head in frustration. “No! I don’t care about that, I just… how can you expect me to do this for eleven more years?”

“In the same way that I expect you to understand that there is no choice, Draco! What else is there?” Harry buried his face in his hands, aware most of all of the fact that Draco hadn’t really responded to his declaration. He hadn’t had time to think it through before saying it, and hadn’t realized until now that hearing nothing in response was going to be so hard. And now Draco didn’t seem content to wait for him in any respect. 

He was more hurt than angry, but all he could show was anger. "It's not as easy for me as it is for you!"

He could feel Draco freeze beside him. "What?"

"Being unfaithful to your wife. You’ve done it so well these past few months, haven’t you? You’ve been doing it well for years. How hard could eleven more be?”

Draco rose from the table. Harry watched him, taken aback by the fury in his eyes. “You have no place to say what’s easy for me and what isn’t. You have no way of knowing what these past months have been like for me.” Draco snorted. “ _Fuck_ you, Harry!” 

Harry’s heart fell. “Draco, I’m sorry… I know it’s not easy for you either, I just don’t know what else you expect me to do!” He made to stand, to go to him, window be damned, but Draco held out a hand to stop him. 

“Don’t,” he whispered, voice catching on itself. “Tell Molly, and Andromeda and Teddy that I’m sorry. But I have to go.” He took two steps back to Harry’s single step forward. “I’ll see you at work.” 

After Draco had Apparated away, Harry spent ten more minutes outside composing himself in silence. He was almost ready to go in - or at least he'd stopped shaking - when George popped his head outside to tell him that Ginny’s water had broke.

~*~

_So we just hold on fast_  
Acknowledge the past  
As lessons exquisitely crafted  
Painstakingly drafted  
To carve ourselves instruments  
That play the music of life 

~*~ 

 

_Monday, December 29th 2008_

When Draco heard the knock on his office door at the end of the day, he knew it was Harry. Unlike last time, when he'd been convinced that Harry would never want to see him again. He knew now that Harry wasn't going to give up. He was a stubborn, ridiculous Gryffindor to the very core, and so when he heard the tentative knock, and saw the distorted sulking figure through the glass, he knew.

And he knew that it was going to be the last time.

"Just a second," he said, rising steadily and glancing at the Pensieve that was sitting on the corner of his desk. It was unlike any other Pensieve in the world, because it was the newest prototype. It had been tested many times, and so Draco knew it was safe - he'd tested it himself a couple of times, out of both obligation and curiosity. It was recognizable as a Pensieve, but there were obvious differences as well. It was white, for one, and made of smooth imperturbable marble. Instead of a large bowl, it dipped gently in the middle, and was filled with what looked unmistakably like clouds. They swirled quite calmly, and Draco focused on them for a moment before walking around his desk and to the door. 

He opened it cautiously to see Harry standing there, looking more disheveled than usual. "Can I come in? Please?"

Draco nodded, stepping back to let him in and shutting the door behind him. He locked it magically, also placing several wards around the door and window. 

Harry tensed. "Um. What are you doing?" 

"Harry, if you're here to apologize, you can forget it." He finished casting the last of the wards before turning to face him.

"Please let me... please, won't you listen -" Harry began, but Draco cut him off with his mouth. Harry nearly jumped out his skin at the contact, but Draco ran his hands gently up and down Harry's arms to calm him. Harry kissed him back half-heartedly for a moment before pulling away. 

"I don't understand," Harry began, placing his hands tentatively on Draco's waist, as if he was afraid he might pull away, but Draco leaned into the touch. 

"There's nothing to apologize for." 

"But what I said... Merlin, it was terrible. Draco, I'm so sorry. I never meant -" Draco's mouth met Harry's again, and after a moment of indecision Harry finally relented, wrapping his arms tightly around Draco and kissing him back with bruising force, breathing harshly through his nose. Draco moaned, letting Harry push him back against the wall. Harry began to kiss his neck, run his tongue along his collarbone, igniting a spark deep in the pit of Draco's stomach.

"Harry. Harry, wait." Draco brought his hands up to rest on Harry's shoulders, putting several inches in between them. Harry's eyes burned with confusion and longing, and Draco almost forgot his plan entirely. 

"What's the matter?" Harry asked gently. 

Draco smirked. "Have you forgotten about the wards already?" 

Narrowing his eyes, Harry pulled away further. "No, I haven't forgotten. I just figured they were because of that thing on your desk, maybe. What's going on?" 

Draco took a deep breath. "Harry, I want to do something for you, but you'll have to go along with it without knowing what it is. You have to trust me." 

This was the part Draco had been slightly apprehensive about. His Oath forbade him from explaining to Harry anything about the Pensieve itself, but his plan also hinged on Harry's ability to trust in him. It couldn't proceed without it. 

"Of course I trust you, you idiot. You just locked me inside your office, and warded the fucking room so heavily that not even the Head Auror could get through. Where the hell did you learn that last one, anyway?" 

Draco just smiled. 

"Right, right. Department of Mysteries business, I get it. Point is," Harry sighed, shaking his head slightly. "If I didn't trust you, do you honestly think I'd have let you kiss me after locking me in here?"

"Okay," Draco nodded. He slid out from his place between Harry and the wall, and offered Harry his hand. Harry took it at once, giving it a gentle squeeze and letting himself be led to the desk. They stood before the Pensieve, Draco's whole body tingling in anticipation. He didn't know how Harry was going to respond to this next part. 

Laying on a white cloth next to the Pensieve was a slender silver dagger, its handle in the shape of a serpent's head. Harry eyed it curiously before turning to look at Draco. "Relic of Slytherin?" 

"An old family heirloom," Draco explained. "This requires a bit of blood, and I figured it was the best knife to use, since it will numb the pain - unless you hit bone, that is." 

Harry swallowed. "A bit of _my_ blood?"

Draco nodded slowly. "Just a drop. Are you okay with that? If not, we don't have to -"

"No. I want to," Harry said, standing up straighter and suppressing a slight shudder. "Thanks for asking, though."

Draco tightened his grip on Harry's hand briefly before letting go and picking up the small piece of parchment he had placed facedown on the desk. He looked at it, but kept the words he had written there hidden from Harry for the time being. 

"Any time you're ready."

Harry looked at him for a moment, unsure. Draco wished he was able to reassure him, to let him in on his plan, but that was impossible. Instead he just looked back at him, willing him to understand that although there was nothing at all legal about what they about to do and that he could quite possibly lose his job, it was safe. It was all for him. 

"Trust me," he whispered. Harry nodded, eyes falling away from him as he awkwardly picked up the silver dagger.

He didn't want to, but Draco forced himself to watch as Harry made a small cut across the tip of his finger. "Is this what Slytherins get their kids for Christmas? Knives that tickle?" he asked as he let one drop of blood fall into the shallow basin. At once the clouds began to swirl faster, grow darker. The temperature in the room lowered noticeably, which was the one odd side affect the Department hadn't really worked out yet. It wasn't dangerous, but until they fixed it they wouldn't allow any products to be sold. 

"Yes. And what do Gryffindor kids get? Swords that sparkle?" Draco asked, a smile in his tone if not his expression. He took Harry's hand in his, healing it quickly and kissing the tip of his finger slowly before letting it fall away. 

"This is so strange." Harry looked into the Pensieve cautiously, watching the clouds respond to what must have been hurricane force winds, though it was completely still in the room. "What now?"

Draco looked down at the parchment one last time before holding it out to him. His heart was thudding in his chest, and he wrapped his arms around himself after Harry had taken it. "Read it out loud. Whenever you're ready." 

Harry held the parchment before him in both hands, not seeming to comprehend the intent of it at first. There weren't very many words written there, but the few that were would explain everything that Harry needed to know, after the message had sunk in. He stared down at the words for a very long time, hands beginning to tremble slightly.

"Harry?" Draco asked tentatively. 

Harry's eyes flickered up, brimming with unshed tears. "You remembered what I said," he spoke softly, one tear falling as he shifted his eyes back to the parchment, drinking in the words. 

"Yes," Draco nodded. "Of course I did." 

"I just say the words, and then... and then I'll be there?" Harry's words were rushed, hurried. Draco thought he might have been choking back a sob. 

Draco closed the distance between them, turning Harry delicately to face him. "Yes. You will," he whispered. 

Harry took a deep, shuddering breath, placing his hands on Draco's shoulders. "You'll come with me, won't you?" 

Draco's eyes widened in surprise. "You want me to come with you?" Harry nodded, almost shyly, and Draco pulled him into a hug. Harry hid his face in Draco's neck. "Of course I will, if that's what you want. You'll have to hold on to me pretty tight, though. It won't be like side-along Apparation." 

"Not a problem," Harry whispered, arms encircling Draco further. Draco smiled, kissing Harry's cheek lightly and then relaxing into him. Now all there was left to do was wait until Harry felt ready enough to speak. 

It wasn't long before Harry took a deep breath and said, "Seven o'clock. December 25th, 1980."

The world began to swirl, a vicious grey wind surrounding them though not one hair on their heads was ruffled. Harry was holding on so tightly it hurt. 

The prototype Pensieve was designed to bring the user back to where they had been at any particular date and time. It was superior to the older model in that it did not rely on memories to be activated. The user did not have to recall the moment in time at all. It would be incredibly useful, once all the kinks were worked out. The Wizengamot and the Ministry's Investigative branches were sure to have a field day with it. 

But right now, it was going to change Harry's life. Draco wanted to give him the something important, something significant that he alone had the power to give. He loved being the only one able to do this for him, loved it selfishly, but he couldn't help it. After this, things had to end between them, for at least eleven years. He'd thought long and hard the night before, trying to find the best way to tell Harry, to find a way to ensure that Harry wouldn't forget about him in the meantime. That was when he'd recalled what Harry said. 

_"I spent one Christmas with my Mum and Dad. I wish I could remember anything about it._ Anything _."_

What he needed to do was obvious, then. He'd thought about it briefly even just after Harry had said it, but he'd dismissed it then as crazy. Even without really breaking his Oath, he'd be terminated on the spot if he were to be caught. 

In the end, his work was truly not very important to him. He'd entered into the position as a means to an end, and that end was no longer something he desired. All that mattered was that Harry was happy. That he could make him truly happy, just this once. He didn't know how happy Harry would be in the interim years, but he wanted him to have this, and he wanted it to be from him, and he wanted Harry to keep it with him, always. 

The world settled down around them. He pulled away slightly, noticing Harry's eyes were pinched shut. They were in the middle of a brightened living room. A Christmas tree was lit and decorated in the corner behind Harry's head. And they were not alone. 

"Harry, look!" he whispered excitedly, even though he knew it wasn't possible for anyone but Harry to hear him. Harry managed to pry his eyes open, but seemed unwilling to let him go. "Harry. Turn around..."

Harry did turn, slowly and shaking in Draco's arms. Draco kept his hands on Harry's waist, not wanting to let go of him, not until Harry was ready. 

A man, younger than both Harry and Draco, was kneeling on the floor in front of the tree. His hair was dark and messy, and he was wearing glasses with silver frames and very strange, open-ended jeans. He was quickly - and not very efficiently - attempting to wrap a couple of presents, and shooting nervous glances behind him at the stairs. Draco was surprised to see the man's dark eyes. Other than that, and a few other small nuances about the face, he could have been Harry's twin. Opening one of the small boxes, a gold necklace was revealed - he moved it with the tip of his finger until it was lying straight. Then he shut it again, and attacked it with wrapping paper. 

"Better hurry, mate!" someone said, and both Harry and Draco jumped. Another man entered then from the kitchen, carrying a couple of pint glasses. He didn't look familiar to Draco, but Harry tensed. 

"Why?" James asked, sounding irritated. 

"I heard Harry crying. I suspect the little woman will be down soon," the man answered. 

James looked up at him sharply, shaking his head. "Arse." 

"Who's that?" Draco whispered. Harry shook his head slowly in wonder as the man placed one of the pints on the floor beside James and then collapsed onto the couch. 

"It's Sirius," Harry whispered back. "He looks so... god, the both of them. They're so young. I never realized..." Harry's father started to say something else then, and Harry seemed to have forgotten he had been speaking. He was listening with rapt attention, eyes locked onto him hungrily. 

Someone else entered the living room from the kitchen, carrying another pint and a plate full of chocolate chip cookies. This man was one that Draco recognized, with his worn sweater and warm eyes. He sat down next to Sirius on the couch.

"Father Christmas better be pleased. I don't think they're burnt!" 

Sirius shoved an entire cookie into his mouth, shaking his head. "No' bur'. Berry 'mmy." 

"Lupin," Draco whispered. Harry nodded, moving forward. Draco let him go, and did not follow. He just watched as Harry kneeled down in front of his father, who was placing the last of the gifts under the tree. This was Harry's moment, not his. He felt lucky enough to even be allowed. 

"Thanks for taking them out for me, Remus. I knew James was going to ignore the timer." A light, female voice sounded from the bottom of the stairs, out of Draco's line of sight. Harry's head snapped up, eyes wide and bright and terrified. 

"Hey! I would have taken the bloody cookies out, you know, I was just busy with - something!" James complained, standing up and quickly Banishing the roll of wrapping paper from the floor. Harry scooted back quickly, lest James walk through him. He wasn't quick enough, though - James' foot stepped through Harry's knee for a moment, and Harry gasped before moving back further, rubbing at his knee. Draco had had it happen to him once, too. It felt like ice water going through you, leaving behind a phantom pressure that took several moments to subside. 

"Busy with - what was it? Something?" A red-haired woman appeared in the archway of the living room then, a small bundle in her arms. Draco's breath caught in his throat, and Harry stood up, hands clenched into fists at his side. Draco wished that he could see his face. "That's a likely story, I'm sure."

"Very likely!" Sirius raised his pint in a quick salute, and Lily frowned at him. 

"Happy Christmas, Sirius," she muttered, not sounding happy in the least. Draco couldn't get over her eyes. Everyone said it, anyone who was anyone knew that Harry had his mother's eyes. But he'd never really thought about it before, never realized how very factual the statement was. How could he have, before this instant?

Sirius took it all in stride, standing up and smiling handsomely. "A very happy Christmas to you too, Evans!" He walked around the table and held his arms out. "And a very happy Christmas to my little godson Harry!" 

For several moments, Sirius held his arms outstretched and Lily stared back at him incredulously. Baby Harry let out a soft, adorable wail, and Harry himself let out a short laugh.

"This is so fucking surreal," he whispered. "That's _me_..."

"See? He wants me!" Sirius complained, and James came to stand beside Lily.

"Let Padfoot hold him for a little while. He's been good today." He planted a quick kiss on Lily's cheek, and she sighed. 

"I know for a fact that he took a shower this morning, if that helps," Remus added, and Sirius nodded encouragingly. 

"Oh, all right. But be very careful, Sirius, I mean it! Support his head, and hold him with both arms. And for Merlin's sake, please don't forget you're holding him!" Lily resignedly handed Baby Harry over to Sirius, looking deeply, deeply unsure about it. 

Harry's head was turning back and forth very quickly. He seemed unable to make up his mind about who he wanted to look at more: himself being held by his godfather on the couch, or his parents embracing, conveniently enough, beneath the mistletoe. Harry chose the latter eventually, walking toward them until he was right in front of them. He was taller than his father, and broader, but then again he was also older and not currently in the middle of a war, Draco reminded himself. In fact, all four of them looked thinner than was probably healthy. 

Tears streamed freely down Harry's face as he watched them, watched his father with his arms around his mother, kissing her on first one cheek, then the other, then her nose. Lily smiled, and stole a kiss on the lips. Sirius cheered in the background. 

Harry held his arm out, hand just inches away from them. Draco had half a mind to call out to him, to stop him, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. There was no real harm in it, was there? Harry's hand continued on its forward path until it went through his mother's shoulder. The couple moved slightly, and Harry's hand, still extended, shifted to the middle of his father's chest - but not before the two of them jumped apart, staring at each other in bewilderment. Harry stepped back, too, surprised. 

"What was that?" Lily asked, bringing her opposite hand up to stroke her shoulder. 

James pulled at the material of his shirt, staring down at it. "I have no idea. Did you drag your feet on the carpet upstairs or something?" 

Lily shrugged. "Maybe. I've never had a shock like that before." James grinned at her, pulling her back into his arms to kiss her again and make a corny joke before moving to sit with her on the loveseat. 

Harry turned, horrorstruck. "What just happened?" 

But Draco was just as blown away. "I have no idea. I'll have to let the designers know as soon as possible - nothing like that has ever happened in a test run, but I'll bet nobody purposefully tried to touch..." He let his voice fade as he realized that Harry was not really listening. 

"I thought this was a memory. They can't see me, they don't hear me, but... but I just... they noticed me!" Harry cried, falling to his knees once again, staring around at his family for the first time in his own living memory. Draco's mind was racing, in two completely different places at once - of course he was here with Harry, but he was also going through the possibilities, trying to figure out exactly how something so gigantic could have slipped past his own and his colleagues' notice. Had they invented a fucking time machine by accident? 

"God Harry, I'm so sorry," Draco whispered. "I didn't know..."

Harry turned his head towards him, eyes red-rimmed and face blotchy. "Please don't be sorry. Don't ever be sorry." 

"Oh, Harry..."

"Could you come sit with me? I think I need... I think I need you." Harry buried his face in his hands, shoulders shuddering. 

"Of course." Draco went to him and sat cross-legged, rubbing soothing circles into his back. Baby Harry started crying then, making Harry laugh through his tears.

"How can I ever thank you?" Harry whispered, inching closer. His hands still covered his face, but tears escaped through the crevices, dripped down his chin. Draco moved up to a kneeling position, hugging him and cradling him against his chest. Harry's arms went around his torso at once, and he buried his face in his shirt. 

"Happy Christmas, Harry." Draco kissed his hair, finding tears forming in his own eyes. "Why are you hiding? Look, you're missing them..."

Draco didn't know how long they sat there on the floor, watching Harry's first Christmas unfold before their eyes. Harry said little, except for a few small side comments. "My Mum has so many freckles," and "I look just like Lily," and "Sirius is so weird." Harry just sat back, resting against Draco and watching them all talk, eat cookies and open gifts. Remus fed him a bottle, and Lily reluctantly let Sirius burp him. Harry threw up all over him. Harry was mortified, and Draco laughed, ruffling his hair. Draco watched them too, but mostly he watched Harry. 

He took him in, trying to memorize every facet and curve. Every few moments he was reminded of the fact that everything would soon be over. Harry wouldn't want to end it, he'd surely put up quite a fight, but Draco had his mind made up. He wasn't going to give in, no matter how difficult it was, no matter how much he wanted to keep him. The fact was, Harry deserved a family. His should-be family was surrounding him now, but in reality they were dead and gone. Harry needed the family he had made, and they needed him. No matter how Draco looked at it he knew that Harry wouldn't stay the same, not for long, not as long as he stayed with him. Harry would eventually turn into that version of himself that he hated, simply because he couldn't make the choice, didn't want to make the choice. Draco would make it for him. Draco would ensure Harry had what he needed. 

"I love you, Draco," Harry whispered, gripping his hand tightly and turning to look at him for the first time in hours. "I wish..."

"Shh. I know," Draco whispered back. "I love you, too."

Eventually, Lily went upstairs to put Baby Harry to bed, and Sirius and Remus left, saying goodnight to James on the doorstep before Apparating away. Draco and Harry had to dodge around their feet. And when Lily came back downstairs, James gave her the necklace he had wrapped earlier. Harry had smiled at her joy, the first smile he had had all night. Quickly, though, his smile turned into a worried frown. 

"Time to go," Harry said, standing up and pulling Draco with him. 

"What? Why?" Draco asked, but Harry shook his head, wrapped his arms around Draco and turned. The world swirled around them again, and a few moments later they were standing in Draco's darkened office again. "Harry? What was that about?"

Harry pulled away from him, crossing his arms and blushing. "I was not about to watch my parents having sex, thank you very much."

Draco laughed. "I didn't even notice!" 

"What else was there to pay attention to?" Harry wondered. 

"Well. _You._ " It was Draco's turn to blush.

Harry smiled, pulling him into a kiss, and Draco let him because the number of kisses they would share were numbered, whether Harry knew it or not.

Harry spent the night at Draco's flat that night, for the first and last time. But the last thing on Draco's mind that night was sleep.

"What's the matter, Draco?"

_I don't want to lose you. When I close my eyes, you'll disappear._

~*~

_For we don't realize_  
Our faith in the prize  
Unless it's been somehow elusive  
How swiftly we choose it  
The sacred simplicity  
Of you at my side... 

~*~ 

 

_Epilogue  
September 1st, 2017  
Nine Years Later_

Lily made her father carry her onto Platform 9 and 3/4, but he wouldn't have refused - not for the world.

"I'll walk through next year, Dad. All by myself," she whispered into his ear. "Or maybe the year after that, when I go away to school, too." 

"I'll hold your hand next year if you want me to," Harry promised, petting her long red curls, knowing there was no hope of petting them into any semblance of order. She was his daughter, after all. 

"Maybe," she conceded, resting her head on his shoulder. "Daddy. Are you sad?" 

"Sad? Why would you say that, Lil?" Harry feigned surprise, plastering a smile onto his face and wondering why his youngest child always seemed to be able to read him - was always in perfect tune with him. 

"You just look so sad to me. But don't worry, Al will do really good in school. You don't have to miss him that much, since I'll be home. I can be an only child!" Lily exclaimed, looking positively delighted. Harry laughed, kissing her on the cheek and setting her down as they approached the train. "Look, there's Auntie Hermione with Hugo. Go say hi - I'm going to say goodbye to your brothers, okay?" 

She nodded, running off to play with her cousin. The two children who wouldn't be attending Hogwarts that year stood in awe of all the bigger kids rushing around them lugging their trunks and greeting their friends. Harry followed her out of the corner of his eye, making sure she didn't stray too far. 

Even though he wasn't particularly looking, Harry perceived the exact moment _he_ arrived on the platform. His hair shone as bright as ever in the sun, and so did his son's - by far the brightest spots on the platform, attracting Harry's eye quite naturally even from fifty feet away. Ron, Hermione and Ginny noticed too, but they'd stopped questioning Harry about what had happened between them long ago. Harry had never given them a solid answer before, and no one bothered to ask him about it now.

Harry allowed himself to look at Draco for the first time in several years. The world didn't turn abruptly on its axis as he had supposed, but his breath did catch in his chest. He found that not very much had changed about the other man in nine years. Draco hadn't lost or gained any weight, as far as he could tell, and his hair was still obnoxiously blond, if the tiniest bit thinner on top - Harry couldn't stop himself from grinning at that - and he still carried himself with as much graceful authority as he ever had. He was still beautiful. 

Harry had wondered over the years whether his attraction would lessen with time, or whether it would be possible to fall out of love. After one glance at the other man, he realized that it wasn't. Not for him, at least. 

It was a surprise to see Astoria there with Draco, so soon after their divorce. Harry hadn't seen her in many years, didn't think he'd seen her since the very first Ministry Gala he'd attended his first year teaching. She looked the same, if not colder and more aloof. She kept Scorpius between her and Draco at all times, and Draco was paying all his attention to his son. They were ignoring each other entirely. 

Not unlike he and Ginny, he realized, although things had definitely improved after Lily's birth. Having a daughter seemed to shake Ginny out of her state, calm her down. And Harry getting to witness and see his own mother for the first time had put many things in perspective for him. Things had never been quite the same again, but they had been okay. 

Harry had been content. 

Draco noticed him looking and nodded politely. Harry looked away, heart pounding. Ron was saying something but Harry only listened half-heartedly, unable to fully concentrate when he knew that gray gaze might still be upon him, taking him in, noticing his changes. He looked older than Draco did, and this made him a little uncomfortable even though he kept in good shape. He'd worn one of his best shirts to show off the fact, because he knew Draco would be dropping off his own son for his first year at Hogwarts, too. 

"Daddy, who is that guy?" Lily asked after her brothers had boarded the train, squeezing into the gap between his arm and his side. She was staring in the direction of the Malfoys. Harry glanced over again, glad to be given a valid reason to take another look, and noticed that Draco was looking at Lily in fascination. 

"That man's name is Draco Malfoy. He and I used to be good friends," Harry said quietly, forcing himself to look away again. 

"Well, he keeps looking at me. And looking at you, too. I think he likes me," Lily grinned up at Harry, hanging off his hand. 

Harry nearly laughed out loud. "Oh, you think so?"

"Definitely," she nodded. "He's really cute!" 

"Sweetheart, he's as old as I am," Harry stated, amused. "I don't think that would go over too well with your mum, do you?" 

She giggled, shaking her head. 

"Uncle Ron would disown you, probably," he added with a grin, gripping her hands in his and pulling her up straight. "Ready to go? I think we're going to go out to lunch with your Aunt and Uncle." 

"Yes," Lily said, still staring at Draco. "But Daddy, maybe you should go say hi to him! He looks like he misses you." 

Harry narrowed his eyes. "What makes you say that?" 

She shrugged. "He keeps looking, and he looks real sad." 

"Well, it's probably not the best idea," he said weakly, holding Lily's hand a little tighter as they began to follow at the back of the group, heading toward the exit. With trepidation, Harry realized they were going to pass right by him. 

"Maybe you would both be happier if you did," Lily said, sounding a little disappointed. "Did you get in a fight?" 

"Sort of," Harry sighed. "A very long time ago."

"Then I think you should say hi. Then he'd know you weren't mad at him, and you could be friends again." She looked so certain, so sure of the fact. Things were so simple when you were nine years old. 

Draco was only fifteen feet away now, at most. Harry looked at his feet as he walked, hoping, wishing that Lily wouldn't push it, wouldn't do anything...

~*~*~

Draco held his breath while the Weasley-Potter brood passed by, clogging up the exit with their multitude. He was distracted by a green-haired Teddy Lupin, who was waving at him across the crowd. Draco waved back, knowing he'd see Teddy that weekend at Andromeda's. Teddy had learned early on that Draco preferred to keep his distance from the Weasleys and the Potters, and he'd accepted that without ever asking why. Draco had appreciated that more than anything.

When Draco looked around again, his heart fell into his stomach. Harry and his daughter were standing right in front of him. 

"Hello, Mister," the little girl said, clinging to Harry's hand. On second glance it looked more like Harry was clinging to her hand. She looked up at him with her father's eyes. 

"Hello," Draco said carefully. "How are you?" 

"Fine, thanks. This is my dad, Harry Potter. I guess you used to be friends." Harry wasn't able to suppress a small smile at that.

Draco nodded. "That's true. We were, once." 

"And when was _that_ , exactly?" Astoria asked; he all but forgotten about her. He turned, watching her pull on a pair of blue gloves that matched her robes. 

"Once," Draco repeated mysteriously, in the tone of voice he knew got under his wife's skin. "Is it really any of your business, dear?"

Not surprisingly, she frowned. "Thank Merlin for you it no longer is." She turned at once and made for the exit, and Draco felt immensely relieved. The only reason the three of them had been together that day at all was because Scorpius had made them promise. It was the only thing he'd asked for after the divorce, that they both be there to see him off every year. 

Lily stepped a bit closer to her father, a smile on her face. "I'm going to go tell Mum you'll meet us outside in a few minutes, okay?" 

"Lily -" Harry began, but she cut him off. 

"No, Dad. I'll see you in a few minutes. Nice to meet you, Mister Malfoy," she smiled up at him, and Draco couldn't help but smile back.

"Nice to meet you, too!" he called after her as she scampered off, and she waved. 

He turned his attention to Harry then, staring directly at his face for the first time in a long time. Harry looked terrified to be standing there before him, deserted by his own daughter. But he looked good, even with the few grey streaks he had in his hair. Draco thought it fit him extremely well. He wanted to touch it, run his fingers through it. Familiar green eyes were looking at him curiously, and he found himself unable to look away, trapped in them as if the last time they had been together had only been yesterday. Nine years had gone by since the last time they had been this close, but it might as well have been nine hours. The sudden tension between, binding them in place made his heart beat faster than it had in years. Only Harry had the ability to render him this way. Only Harry ever would. 

"Someone's certainly intuitive," Draco chanced a remark, somehow finding his voice. 

Harry smiled knowingly. "You're telling me. You wouldn't believe some of the things that come out of her mouth."

"No, I'm pretty sure I would." 

"You actually might," Harry agreed softly. Then almost, an afterthought, "I've missed you."

Draco locked eyes with Harry, finding himself unable to breathe properly. What could he say to the man he'd thought of every day for nine years? He'd spent his time divided: when he was with Scorpius, he lived in the present as best he could. But when he was by himself - and even when he was with Astoria or with anybody else, he still felt that he was by himself - he lived for the moment that he might be with Harry again. He hadn't deluded himself into thinking that things would just fall perfectly into place the moment Lily Potter boarded the Hogwarts Express, but he couldn't stop himself from hoping that Harry would stand by his end of the deal. He couldn't stop himself from imagining the two of them together again, together for real, out in the world. He didn't care how long it took to get to that point, he only knew that he'd do anything to get there. One day two years from now, perhaps they could begin working on making that a reality. 

"I've missed you, too," Draco whispered. "How have you been?" 

Harry actually grinned, though it was slightly twisted in bitterness. "Content."

"That's good," Draco said, not sure whether he was glad Harry hadn't been any worse, or glad Harry hadn't been any better than that. 

"How about you?" Harry asked, sticking his hands in his pockets. 

Draco's eyes dropped. He couldn't answer truthfully, not without painting a perfect picture of misery for Harry to take away with him. And it wasn't actually all that bad, not anymore. He'd grown accustomed to the ache, he'd grown around it, adapted to it. "I'm okay," he finally answered. 

"Can I ask you something?" Harry blurted out, causing Draco to look up sharply. He seemed to be waiting for permission, so Draco nodded. "September first, two thousand and nineteen." 

"What?" Draco knew what that date meant, knew it because he'd repeated it in his mind so many times, had even considered asking the Department of Mysteries' designers to create a new Pensieve - one that could see into the future so that he could finally stop his ceaseless wondering, and know for certain. 

"September first, two thousand and nineteen. Two years from now, I would like to ask you to go out to dinner with me," Harry said, voice shaking slightly. "Would you like to?"

Draco opened his mouth to reply, but had trouble finding the words. 

"Draco?"

"I'd love to," he finally replied, and Harry grinned, his whole face lighting up. He held out his hand, and Draco took it immediately. To the outside world it was just a handshake, maybe a bit more prolonged than a normal one, but still just a handshake. To Draco, the feeling of Harry's skin against his was enough to keep him going for two more years at least. His hand was warm, almost unnaturally so. Letting go of it and letting his own hand drop down to his side wasn't as hard to do as he had once imagined, and of course he had imagined this moment many times. 

Though he didn't have the answers he so desperately wanted, he had a renewed sense of hope. And when Harry eventually turned to exit and join his family again, Draco simply smiled and waved, and watched the back of him until he disappeared through the wall, exiting back into the Muggle World. 

For the first time in nine years, Draco's heart rejoiced.

"Soon," he whispered. "Soon, now."

~*~

_fin_

~*~

 

_Listen as the wind blows_  
From across the great divide  
Voices trapped in yearning  
Memories trapped in time  
The night is my companion  
And solitude my guide  
Would I spend forever here  
And not be satisfied? 

_And I would be the one_  
To hold you down  
Kiss you so hard  
I’ll take your breath away  
And after, I’d wipe away the tears  
Just close your eyes, dear 

_Through this world I’ve stumbled_  
So many times betrayed  
Trying to find an honest word  
To find the truth enslaved  
Oh, you speak to me in riddles and  
You speak to me in rhymes  
My body aches to breathe your breath  
Your words keep me alive 

_And I would be the one_  
To hold you down  
Kiss you so hard  
I’ll take your breath away  
And after, I’d wipe away the tears  
Just close your eyes, dear 

_Into this night I wander_  
It’s morning that I dread  
Another day of knowing of  
The path I fear to tread  
Oh, into the sea of waking dreams  
I follow without pride  
Nothing stands between us here  
And I won’t be denied 

_And I would be the one_  
To hold you down  
Kiss you so hard  
I’ll take your breath away  
And after, I’d wipe away the tears  
Just close your eyes…  
Sarah McLachlan – Possession (Acoustic Version)

 

~*~

 

In-text lyrics by Vienna Teng – Eric's Song


End file.
